Still Waters
by shywr1ter
Summary: S1, midPilot: Bling's story: His beginnings with Eyes Only, Logan's rehab..and his introduction to Max. Early stirrings of ML. NOW COMPLETE
1. Storm clouds

_**DISCLAIMER**: Fox, Eglee & Cameron have dibs. No monetary gain here, but if any comes my way I'll hand it over._

_**A/N:** I've always been a sucker for a good sidekick, and Bling is one of the best yet underdeveloped characters I've seen in a while. So this mostly Bling backstory, in 3 or 4 chapters. It will track within the 3 month gap the show gave us between the shooting and Max's visit to Logan, post-injury, at the penthouse. Though I'm sure this has been explored before, I'm still new enough I haven't discovered any other histories for him. Reviews/responses welcome– (solicited, craved...) I'm curious to know if others out there saw his history in any similar vein._

**PROLOGUE**:

Logan would remember only hazy, swirling, agonizing snippets of the moments and first hours after the shooting–the sounds of more gunfire, the cold, harsh bite of pavement against his cheek, calls & yells and sirens...searing pain...frightening numbness...hospital smells...

In and out of consciousness, shocky and unclear, he was only briefly aware of an ambulance ride, but remembered jolts and terse voices in the emergency room as he was lifted, dropped, turned and prodded...then nothing...voices appeared and receded; the words only partly intruded...until there was the moment that his fragmented thoughts started coming together...

_...I was... hit? There was blood..._

The pain was almost unbearable._ The pain is...wrong. _

_The pain shouldn't just stop there..._

And at the point when, in agony from another transfer and the dawning realization of what it might mean he started to panic, hyperventilating with his denial, a somehow familiar voice appeared at his side, a large hand on his shoulder... the voice was soothing, personal. "Logan, it's okay–relax..." it urged, calm amid all the swirling, frenzied, mechanical sounds working to repair the damage to his body. "We're taking care of you now. Just take it easy..."

Logan managed to turn his head and focus, moments before gloved hands reached to take his glasses, bent but intact, from his face. And at his eye level, from where he was immobilized on a back board, he saw black letters resolve into words on a small field of white moving with the voice's owner, clipped on a belt's ID tag to carry his identity : "BL Ingrum"

**ANCIENT HISTORY**

Bonner Lane Ingrum, Jr. was his granny's pride and joy. Of course, his doting parents were deeply, head over heels in love with their first- and only-born beautiful child, but when his mother and daddy had to travel when he was tiny, it was granny who cared for him, and wrapped him in that special, perfect love that only a grandmother can give.

It was summers, mostly, during university summer session; his archeologist father and linguist mother won grants to go off to exotic, wild places with foreign diseases and sudden dangers that could threaten even a precocious toddler. So those first years, it was he and granny, on their own, catching fireflies and making blueberry pies and singing songs in the back yard...

And it was Granny who first called him "BL." No boy child as sturdy and smart and handsome as this child should be called "Bonner Lane," even if it was his daddy's name, and it was she who gave him that name some twenty nine years earlier. No, as special as the son was, _this_ Bonner was just about the best looking, smartest, bravest, happiest, strongest and cleverest soul she had ever met. And it was the same universal, grandmotherly adoration leading to that assessment that also led, for whatever reason, to her anointing him "BL" in the summer of his second year.

And it stuck. His mother and father never liked "Junior" and, besides, they not only loved Granny but delighted in the special bond between grandmother and grandson. By the time he started school, the child was definitely "BL" for good.

BL grew tall and strong and fast; by age seven he was accompanying his parents to the most exotic of locations and soaking up language and culture far removed from his home in northern California. During the school year he excelled in academics and sports; in the summer he ran with the youngsters in local tribes or hilly villages, rounding them up for makeshift soccer games with unripe melons or pinching old baskets to cut out the bottom, nail them to a tree to teach the locals the finer points of the hook shot.

No one was surprised when the good looking, scholarly athlete got a full ride to Stanford, pre-med; no one was surprised that he majored in biomechanics and sport training. No one was surprised when he signed up for a summer trip as a medical assistant to travel to the blighted, war-scarred areas in eastern Europe, a program offshoot of the old Peace Corps, volunteering his summer on an externship for the university.

They were, however, completely stunned when, upon his return, without telling anyone until it was accomplished, he quietly left the university, sold his car, and joined the Navy. He told no one his reasons, and few his plans, but once his friends and family were reconciled to his new job, they were not surprised when they learned he was accepted for SEAL training: one of his plans. Nor were they surprised when he accomplished the second part of the same plan: he trained as team member medic.

No one was surprised when BL excelled and rose in rank, was assigned to one of the most well respected, skilled teams the Navy SEALS had. But... sadly...no one was surprised when BL and his team mates left the Navy, scattering across the globe, in the wake of the Pulse and the deterioration of government responsibility and the rise of the rule of bribe and kickback.

They were pretty surprised when BL went off to an unspecified county in the Far East, but torn when they learned he was living as a student in a monastery studying philosophy and hapkido. And all were pleased–and, admittedly, relieved–when BL came home and returned to school, this time enrolling in the physical therapy program. He was still BL, but different: stronger, quieter...older. Clearly wiser... and he still kept his silence about what had changed his life so drastically, that summer several years before.

**RECENT HISTORY**

Bling looked down at the small container of Peter's possessions from the hospital property locker, and felt a lump growing in his throat. The man had no family; he asked that his few possessions and the small investments he'd managed be split among his former team members and the girl he was seeing. He'd left the arrangements to Bling. The men had been brothers in service and, for the past couple years, since Bling had moved to Seattle, brothers in retirement. It was Peter who had encouraged Bling to come to Washington; it was Peter who had brought him in to join him on occasional jobs for Eyes Only–and it was like old times, in the service. Peter had told him how important the work was, how much good he was doing, for so many people. He thought it was like what they used to do in the service–and what they couldn't do when things went down the tubes with the Pulse.

It was Peter who'd christened him with his "service" name: Peter noted the name on his name tag, early on–"BL Ingrum"–and given that the man had something, quiet, but the ladies really came around, tagged him "Bling." The name stuck to him more quickly and insistently than his grandmother's had.

Bling sighed. Peter had predicted this, after all. He was worried about recent work he'd been doing, and told Bling that he'd set up a safe deposit box with some final instructions that he trusted Bling to handle. He was insistent that if ever he was out of commission, that Bling make sure to do this for him. He had also vaguely hinted that if Logan Cale was also a casualty, that there would be additional matters to address...

First things first. He looked back toward the surgical suite where Logan Cale was still in surgery. Even Sam Carr's skills wouldn't put him back on his feet–Bling had seen the wound, the chart...under optimal circumstances he would survive the surgery, but in the present economy there was just no telling with anything. And...arrangements...he needed to see to Peter's cremation and ashes...

Still staring at the form on the operating table, Bling felt his indrawn breath shudder, the loss of his brother painful...he would honor Peter's memory by doing all he could to carry out whatever wishes he had tucked away for him. So first...he would go see what Peter had left for him in the safety deposit box, downtown...

_...to be continued..._


	2. Changing of the Guard

**_DISCLAIMER: Same as before_**

_A/N: Thanks for reading and for the reviews. It's nice to see that there's a good crop of Bling fans out there. What a great character! Why did they not keep him around, anyway? I suppose they could use the excuse that Cale Industries went bust so Logan couldn't pay his salary any more...but Bling would've come around if they really wanted him to–he was just that kind of guy._

**DOWNTOWN**

Bling sat in the tomb-like quiet of the vault room, alone at a table surrounded by hundreds of the small bronze faces of safety deposit boxes...his third room, and third bank, that day, following instructions from one to the next in a combination of printed directions from the box and references to locations or code numbers only he could know, from their years of friendship. Peter had gone to great length to be sure no one else would be able to get to the contents of this box...and Bling now understood why...

He sat back in the chair, unmoving, eyes closed, digesting all that he had just learned about his friend's work and employer, the man who at that moment was still unconscious in ICU, not yet awake after the long, delicate surgery to stem as much damage as possible and repair what was not yet lost... For most people, it would be hard enough, the impact of such an injury profound. But the injury to this man would affect far more than him, alone – or would, if Cale let it beat him. The irony of the circumstances burned in Bling's chest – Peter's pleas to Bling to take over his role if he was gone, to serve as body guard and right hand to Eyes Only, were drafted when Peter could have no way of knowing that Cale would need other assistance that Bling was in a position to offer, as therapist. The moment overwhelmed him...

Eyes Only...on his very first day in Seattle, Bling had seen the intense, wide eyes and had heard the driven voice, the terse words of the video hack. He, and, he would learn, countless others, admired the masked avenger, and he probably realized more than most would just how dangerous it was to do what the man did.

It didn't take long before Bling learned that Peter was involved in this work. When he first approached Bling about needing his help on a mission, Peter told him just enough to let Bling decide if he wanted in or not–and to understand that it was part of the current Eyes Only investigation of a local chemical company accused of selling chemical weapon components to anyone with the price. He'd known that first minute he wanted in, but needed to hear Peter explain his reasons for getting involved. The memory of that conversation floated over Bling, clear and powerful...

"_What's in it for him?" Bling had demanded, hunched over the small cafe table where they'd sat outside, near a noisy street market, better to mask the words from unwelcome eavesdroppers. "Some civilian do-gooder? Robin Hood was fiction, man. You can't tell me he's not looking out for himself in this..."_

"_I can – because he's not" Peter had responded immediately. "His resources are adequate for his needs; he's doing this because he can, and no one else seems to be able or willing to go after all the crap that's out there." He had paused at that moment, and admitted, "It's why I quit the force, Bling. Most of the cops out here – anywhere – it's just like it was, back in the service. Whatever good guys still around are overrun by opportunists, who use the system to get what they can. Eyes Only is about the only one around who is giving everything he has to try and protect the little guy out there." _

"_Oh, great, you're Sancho Panza now?" Bling shook his head. "Are you going to get yourself killed tilting at windmills with Don Quixote? 'Cos there are better things to do with your shootable ass..."_

"_No, there aren't..." Peter was deadly serious, a fire in his eyes as he looked back to his friend. "You've heard him, haven't you? 'The only free voice left...' He really is, Bling. And maybe he's just taking them on one at a time, but he's fighting the same fight we wanted to fight in places where only a few had a voice..." Peter shook his head sadly. "Who would have thought that it would be us becoming a greater wasteland of insiders and cons than anywhere we ever saw, back then?"_

And so Bling went to help out on one job...then another...and another...and he met a couple others fighting the fight, including a bespectacled journalist named Logan Cale.

Cale. _'I'll be damned...'_ he thought, remembering...

Bling met Cale several times over the couple years he'd been a part of Peter's missions...at first, it was out on the street or providing information – or access to the hospital. Nearly a dozen times he was asked to check someone out, clean and stitch a wound, set a broken bone, and many times Cale was around. He knew that Cale had contacts in various places, probably begun in his work as journalist. Bling suspected that the man was one of the "brains" of the outfit, helping plan their activities with Peter there to provide the professional input. Cale wasn't too badly out of shape and could keep up with them fairly well, but he wasn't a fighter -- Bling suspected that if it wasn't for the screwed up mess the world was in, the man would be happy to be surrounded by books and research day and night. He was bright, a thinker; he wasn't made for this fight. He seemed to be a loner -- something had him in the struggle that was deep and driven. He was tireless, clearly going for hours without sleep. _'Everyone has their own reasons_,' Bling used to think. _'Whatever the reason, the man gives his all...'_

Bling thought back to the day he knew that he'd passed some test in the outfit, as he was allowed on a couple occasions to meet in what had to be some rich benefactor's place – one with a suspiciously impressive display of computer equipment -- and Peter gave him the key to the safety deposit box that he was to check if anything happened. He was being trusted with the protection of the system, he was told – and nothing more. He'd find all of the instructions and anything he needed to know in the box.

...that was an understatement...

**METRO MEDICAL**

As Bling neared the hospital he heard sirens – not normally out of place around the emergency room, but these were different...and as he rounded the corner, he saw black smoke rising from an upper, back window – the orthopedic surgical floor – and hook and ladder units spilling rubber-coated firefighters at the emergency room entrance. Bling had a sudden, intensely bad feeling about this...

Parking quickly, Bling jogged up the driveway leading to the emergency bay. Seeing one of the orthopedic interns he knew, he went up to her to ask, "Hey, Sarah, what's going on?"

"Not sure yet – there was some sort of explosion up on three west – they don't think anyone was hurt yet, but it was in post op recovery–that shooting victim of Sam's from this morning. I don't know how he wouldn't have been hurt; they said it was actually in his room."

Bling nodded grimly. Peter's words – and his request for Bling's involvement – took on a chilling immediacy. Starting to move, he touched the woman's arm lightly. "See you later." Knowing that the elevators would be limited to emergency status until the fire department cleared them, he went quickly to the stairwell and ran up the cement steps, two at a time. Pulling the door open on three, Bling looked toward the activity at the end of the hall, smoke filling the hallway and personnel largely absent. Watching as two floor nurses threaded their way in and out of rooms, checking on patients, mouths and noses covered with surgical masks against the smoke, he came toward the supply area and got a mask too. He came in behind one of the nurses. "Rose, can I help?"

"Oh, BL – thanks; yes" The head nurse looked relieved. "How did you get up here? I thought they ordered evacuation of the wing..."

He followed her as she moved to the next room. "I must have missed the order." He copied her actions as she began unhooking leads and lying IV bottles on the patient's bed. "You're moving everyone off the wing?"

She nodded "They have the fire under control, but aren't quite sure what caused the explosion, so want to move everyone for now. They don't need to be sucking in the smoke, anyway."

"Someone was in the room when it went off?"

"No – but there should have been." She shook her head, pointing to a monitor that Bling grabbed and moved along to attach to the bedframe. "It was Sam's new patient – the shooting victim, post surgical ICU. But when the thing went off, he was out, bed and all – Cleo said some young woman was just pushing him down the hall, strolling along like it was nothing to have rooms explode behind her, no big deal. It was pretty crazy for a few minutes but by the time we got the patient out of the hall and into another room, she was gone."

Bling frowned. "Staff?"

"No – in street clothes, a black leather jacket--Cleo said she'd never seen her before."

Bad news to worse? Bling didn't like puzzles, even if the puzzle here included some street-punk guardian angel. "I'm going to be working with him." Bling exaggerated – it was still only intention, not plan, but he'd make sure to get it done. "I'll help you move the beds, but would like to see him for a minute – where is he now?"

"304"

The tall man nodded. "Where will you be taking the patients?"

"They have enough room for most of them on four east. The two with less need for ICU services will go up to their floors." She gestured with her head to the other end of the hall.

"Okay – let me go look in on Mr. Cale. Let me know when you want to start moving everyone..."

"Any time – go ahead when you want. You could take him down..." she shrugged.

"Sure – thanks."

Bling turned to go, quickly passing 304 with a fast glace in, to approach the still-smoking room 312. Near the entrance, one of the firemen saw him to speak through his respirator. "Hey, buddy, you can't be here--"

"I know; I just needed to be sure Mr. Cale's – ah, here it is." Bling walked toward the first loose object he could find that looked half legitimate, allowing him to come in and take a fast look around. "Sorry." He turned to go back into the hall and on to 304, his jaw working.

The single mobile bed bore the still form of Logan Cale, still unconscious, apparently not yet rousing even through the excitement. He was pale and drawn, a large abrasion across his cheek, but his breathing was even and unassisted. Bling came behind the bed to start pushing it down the hall to the elevator, hitting the sequence for emergency override on the elevator, mind in overdrive. That was no explosion, not the sort the hospital was thinking about, such as ignited oxygen tanks or electrical problems – the shattered window and shrapnel pattern along the wall was textbook grenade and launcher pattern. Whoever was after the people Peter and Logan were protecting was now after Cale, to finish the job, apparently. His hope that the snatch of the child and woman was sufficient for them evaporated – and he was suddenly faced with the job of protecting a man with a killer on his tail...

**FOURTH FLOOR**

He'd been floating in and out of awareness; he'd heard not only that distinctive hospital ping but a man's voice, calm and strong, urging his response. He felt a dull but insistent throb of pain along his back, from waist to shoulders; his head was splitting. He frowned, trying to focus...

"C'mon Logan, I know you're there. Talk to me."

He managed to pry his eyes open, immediately closing one when two unresolved images would not reconcile. Through slitted lids he saw a serene face, looking down at him.

"See? You're half way there, man."

The voice carried support, concern. The face, he knew. "...Bling..." He croaked from a dry throat sore from the tubes that had so recently been there.

"Hey. Welcome back." He reached to an unseen space behind Logan as he spoke. "Your mouth is probably pretty dry but you can't drink quite yet. I've got ice chips here, though – want some?" At the weak nod, Bling raised a piece to his lips and Cale gratefully took it, letting the cold, wet piece melt sooth his parched mouth.

"Logan, you're at Metro Med – you know why you're here?"

The eyes remained closed as Cale's brow furrowed, trying to remember... He finally put it together. "Lauren... and Sophie...?" he asked. "They've taken them..." He breathed, agitated ... "Do you know if..."

"No, I don't know what's happened. I'm sorry..." Bling saw the anguish written on the man's face, the pain of failure. "Look, things may have worked out..."

"Call Peter. He'll know." Cale managed, voice reedy with exhaustion. "Where is he? Was he hurt, too?"

Bling frowned, hating to have to do this, knowing he should lie for the moment, knowing he could not... "Logan, Peter was hit...he didn't make it..." He saw the eyes force their way open, tormented; they began to fill slightly – as Bling's did in response, mourning the same man. "He wouldn't have suffered. It was immediate."

Cale's eyes closed slowly, brow knit, the loss clear. "It's my fault..."

"No – and I don't want to hear you say that again." Bling's voice was firm. "Peter was as close to me as family – he was in this of his own volition, knew what he was doing was right–and would have never let you talk him into doing something he didn't want to do. He wouldn't have let either one of you go into something that didn't have at least a reasonable chance of working out. So don't even try to say you could have been the cause."

The pain was still there but the brow soothed a tiny bit. Bling knew that the man needed his rest and might not even remember much of this, but he needed to be sure that Cale didn't take all this on his own shoulders. He had a feeling that he'd have enough to deal with, facing life now as a paraplegic, someone out there still wanting him dead. They'd have to talk, seriously, soon. But now wasn't the time...

"Look, Logan, you just lie back and get some rest. You have some serious healing to do. I'd like to be around, though, while you do."

The green eyes managed to crack open one more time to consider the man's face. "What for?" he croaked.

"Favor to an old friend." Bling's words were immediate. "Get some rest, Logan" he soothed. "You've got a lot of work ahead..."

_..to be continued..."_


	3. A Journey of a Million Miles

_**DISCLAIMER: Characters borrowed from Cameron, Eglee, Fox. Guys, don't you wish you'd kept them going, too?**_

_**Once again, thanks to those who have taken the time to read, and sincere appreciation for comments and reviews. They really do help keep things moving along.**_

**METRO MEDICAL: SIX NORTH**

It was late, the hospital dark and quiet, and Sam Carr was sitting at his desk in the pool of light made by the desk lamp, proofreading the transcriptions of his dictated surgical notes. The thought of his wife's lasagna made his stomach rumble, but he had four more reports to review from the week, and then he could go home to really relax and enjoy his family over the weekend. Over the years he'd found that taking one night a week, after hours, worked the best; it was far less hectic than fitting reports in between patients, or trying to do so at anytime at home with his energetic twin boys, now age six, demanding his attention...

Sam was aware that someone was coming with the shift in the dim light spilling in from the hall, and looked up to see a familiar, powerful form. "Hi, BL" the doctor's smile, though weary, was genuine. "Haven't seen you much lately–how are you?"

"Good, Sam; thanks." His expression was sympathetic. " Rough week?"

"So it shows?" Sam smiled ruefully. "Some bad ones, this week. It must be really tough out there, but then, people getting hurt right and left, I don't get out much to see it."

Bling nodded. "Just as well. You've got a great view of all there is to see parading through here, right?" It was like most of the staff comment these days, sad, gallows' humor, offered between individuals who sometimes had to laugh so they wouldn't go crazy with the never-ending want and despair in the once-vital city. At Sam's sigh and nod, Bling got to the point. "Sam--one of your new patients–the shooting victim, T-10 blow-out, came in as a John Doe–I'd like to take the assignment when you order PT."

Without hesitation Sam nodded. "Sure. You know him?"

Bling nodded. "More like a friend of a friend–his name is Logan Cale, but..." Bling had known Sam since he'd gotten the job here, right after his arrival just over two years earlier. If he couldn't trust Sam, there was no one he could trust in the hospital. Besides--there just wasn't time to check him out anyway, even if he had the resources to do so. "Sam, if you still have him listed as a John Doe, I'd ask that you keep it that way. I think that the explosion in his room was an attempt on his life, to finish the job they tried out on the street." Bling still regretted his speaking before he'd thought about it, back on six, when he called Logan by name not only to nursing staff, but to one of the fire fighters. He could only hope that the name meant nothing to them and was easily forgotten in the chaos following the explosion. "Maybe keeping his name out of things will keep _everyone_ safer."

Sam frowned. "Why? Who is he?"

Bling followed what Peter had indicated was their explanation to the Fogle Towers security people in exacting their attention, when needed. "Logan Cale is one of the 'Cale Industry' Cales. Apparently, since the Pulse his family has been targeted by kidnappers, as have other wealthy families around the country, in the hope of scoring some fast cash. Plus, the business is engaged in technology that is literally coveted by other governments, and so is highly desirable among black marketeers. Whatever the current reason, it wouldn't be the first time someone has been after his family. Maybe killing a Cale gets the attention of the other Cales; who knows. Maybe it _was_ just a coincidence. But in the circumstances, it might be better to be paranoid." Bling took his point home. "Sam, the other shooting victim brought in with him–the one who didn't make it–was my closest friend, from our time in service. He worked for Cale, and indicated that there might be some danger..." Bling hoped this wasn't too much to dump on the doctor. "Whether or not Mr. Cale wanted it, Peter appointed himself as his body guard, and was there as much as he could be, for him. Now that Peter's gone...and especially since Cale is going to need PT..." Bling summed, "I'd like to be his therapist."

"Of course." To his credit, Sam appeared to be relatively unruffled. "I'd thought of you anyway, his height and age..." With those words, Bling knew the physician was considering both the physical and psychological aspects of the patient's rehabilitation, as the hospital's other therapist was young, petite–and very female. Not only would Bling's added height and strength make it easier for him to deal with a taller–and therefore heavier–patient, there would be topics to consider that any man would have a hard enough time facing--and might never face fully with a pretty young girl eliciting the conversation.

Bling nodded. "Thanks, Sam. Peter asked that I look out for him, if anything happened..." He found that the words, spoken aloud, still were difficult to say in an even voice...but he went on. "Logistically, if you could have him assigned to an inside room, either without windows, or with those on the inner courtyard..."

"Alright." Sam's eyes never left Bling's, probing...trusting, but curious. He had always respected the man's work and success with even difficult clients. But BL always made him think of the old cliche, _'still waters run deep...'_ He'd always suspected there was far more to the man than met the eye, even as he believed completely that whatever was underneath was just as noble and generous as he was as a therapist. Apparently, he'd been right...he hoped...

"And...just so you know..." Bling continued, diving in headlong, needing to have Logan's doctor in on this, needing to know that Sam would be there for his patient. "There's going to be a rather insistent source telling the local reporters that someone actually did die in the explosion. Of course, no one did, so the hospital will be denying it, probably just as emphatically." Bling kept his eyes on those of the surgeon. "I promise you will not be cited or used in any way on my end, but...if the reporters ask...I'm just hoping it might be enough, if we keep his name out of any hospital records, and move him quietly from four to the unit, anyone trying to get to him might believe they were successful." _And a few additional records entries will help it along_, he believed...

Again a nod–slower in coming this time, thoughtful, but still trusting in Bling, borne of his two years of trusting his patients to him. The man had never failed him or his patients, not once. "Okay, BL" he said softly. "Let me know if I can do anything to be of help."

Bling relaxed slightly, offering a soft smile. "Thanks. Just the offer means a lot." He shifted, and asked. "He knows about the extent of the injury, and the prognosis?"

Sam nodded. "I spoke with him this morning."

"How'd he take it?"

"Stoical...jaw clenched. He didn't say much–didn't say anything." Sam corrected. "Didn't ask any questions. He was lucid, and awake, so...I suspect he knew already."

Bling considered. "Okay. I'll just start out with the usual bed work, then on to chair, unless you need me to do something else. Anything special you anticipate?"

"No, but we'll see in a couple weeks, when the swelling subsides."

Bling nodded once more. "Okay, doc, thanks." He turned to go. "Think I'll stop in and see him now."

"Good, BL; thanks–let me know how it goes." He saw the dark face smile, a small glimmer of hope in a grim and broken world, as the therapist turned to leave on silent tread. Sam wasn't completely sure he'd heard it all–in fact, was quite sure he had not–but BL had the same effect on him as he had on his patients: that there was always hope, that trust wasn't wasted, and that one day, somehow, the world would right itself and justice, however small, however humble, would find its way back to Seattle...

**METRO MEDICAL: 416**

The machines were now down to only one or two, so the former cacophony of beeps and whirs and bells and whooshing sounds was down to the irritating steady beep of the PulsOx monitor Logan would gladly throw across the room, if he could reach it...if he had the strength to throw anything...

For the most part, during those times he was awake, he managed to drift along above it all, mentally reciting centuries-old poetry he'd studied as an undergrad...replaying prePulse basketball playoff games in his head, remembering Reggie Miller raining in three pointers more easily than breathing, remembering the feel of the ball in his own hands, the smoothness of the court under his feet...

...and with a sudden, sucked-in breath of pain he shifted hard and fast, back to poetry, back to words from physical movement...from the memory of that which was now lost to him...

He kept his eyes closed, denying the room, unable to see much detail around him anyway, flat on his back and without his glasses. Nothing here to see, so he hadn't pressed it; still not awake long or completely enough to seek out someone to press, if he'd wanted to...

But memory was demanding, and reality, insistent...and no matter how successful his stubborn attempts to call up the works of Poe or Whitman or Crane or Bryant, his reality was that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how focused or intense, his legs and feet lay still under the blanket. And that, no matter what, was reality, for keeps...

**METRO MEDICAL: FOUR WEST**

Bling came to the door, peering in through the glass panel, its blinds left open so staff could keep a periodic eye on the room's single inhabitant. It wasn't like suicide watch was in full swing; hell, there was nothing in the man's reach that could be used to end it all, if he'd so chosen, that wouldn't sound an alarm if he tried it–any tubing or wiring would trigger an alarm if disconnected, and nothing else was handy. Bling frowned a little to think of the pragmatics involved, how the staff could so easily dismiss an immobile patient–but then sighed, easing up on them. They were incredibly overworked and their behavior made sense in the circumstances. Still, for his patients...for Logan Cale...he sighed, sadly.

He took a moment to focus on what was ahead, knowing this one might be harder for him, given what he knew now. His wonder and awe for this man made this assignment daunting–all he gave, all he'd given up, his selfless fight for thousands of souls he'd never meet, just because it was right–no wonder Peter had been so fierce in his protection.

And now Peter was gone, Cale seriously injured, and the fight was not over-- far from it. Bling knew without question that Cale could be back at it, that _he_ could get Cale back at it–but he could not let his admiration for the man lead him into treating him any differently than he would any of his patients–he had to be the one to be tough, to not buy into any self-pity or helplessness or despair. He knew from his earlier association with Cale that the man had his demons, and Bling suspected that depression could be a major threat to his recovery.

Bling would have to do his all to insist that the man move forward–he had too much work left to do. No matter his personal feeling for the remarkable sacrifices of this solitary man, Bling knew he had to get him up and working again. Not only would the lives of countless persons be affected–but so would the very soul of the man whose future he now held in his strong, capable hands...

**METRO MEDICAL: 416**

The sound of the door opening quietly was enough of a change to roust him out of his half-sleep, half-stupor. He would not open his eyes; usually when he did that the nurses left him alone.

But the steps were quieter and heavier than those of the nursing staff...and the sound neared, stopped– and waited. So he did, too–but he had never been good at staring contests. After a few moments, he slowly opened one eye...

"Hey. You busy?" The black eyebrow raised in gentle challenge as the slow smile quirked Bling's lips.

"Funny." Logan croaked, eyes closing again. "So I didn't just imagine that you were around."

"Nope. This is my day job. Here--" Logan looked back up to see that Bling offered him his glasses, and he reached out to take them. After only a moment's hesitation he put them on, slowly. Bling was explaining, "The ones you were wearing when you came in were lost in the shuffle–these I found in your desk..."

It took a brief moment, but the meaning then became abundantly clear as Logan understood why Bling would have been in his home. "Did you take care of things?" He asked, his mind suddenly focused, single-minded and sharp.

"Security walls are up and the mainframe disconnected from the Net." Bling spoke low, his voice even. "But–considering that you're recovering–I didn't want to pull the plug on everything without--"

"Do it." Logan's eyes closed. His voice was cold and flat. Emotionless.

"I can't–not with you still able..."

"Do it."

"Not yet." Bling watched the man's eyes open to him, and a million emotions shifted through the green depths there–helplessness, despair, rage, frustration...overwhelming powerlessness. "Things are safe for the time being. You will regret losing all that information; it would take years to rebuild–hell, you would never get it all back. I won't pull the plug yet. Not yet."

"That's not your call..."

"Actually, it is. You're here, and will be for a time. Peter handed this off to me–and, as I understand it, it was with your approval. So, for the moment, it _is_ my call. You'll want to have everything intact for when you get back, Logan. Trust me."

"Yeah, well, trust _me_, I won't be going back. Or didn't they teach you what happens when a bullet does a dance through a spinal cord?"

"Actually, they probably taught me a lot more about it than you learned, in those journalism classes of yours." Bling's smooth delivery never wavered. "In fact, enough that your doctor has assigned me to get you back into the world, unless you pitch some major bitch about it being me. And even if you do– he's not likely to be too impressed. There aren't too many physical therapists around these days and he likes my work. So, I'd say you're stuck with me as your therapist for a while."

Cale was silent, his eyes boring into those of his new therapist. And it took all of Bling's resolve not to show a reaction to what he saw there–that the eyes, the familiar eyes he could now imagine inside the 'streaming freedom' video mask, could not hide a ripple of relief and surrender to the strength of the man who might help him salvage what remained of his battered life... Bling stood fast, no more willing to blink than was his patient, fearing the loss of the battles ahead....and Cale swallowed, lifting his chin a little. "How long will it take?"

"What, the therapy?"

"No, to convince you to pull the plug."

Bling's eyebrows lifted a little, and he actually allowed a chuckle–whether or not Cale would admit it, he'd sensed that it was possible to get back to the fight, and Bling heard his real question: _'How long to get back?' _Bling shook his head, and let his eyes direct Cale's to the trapeze bar just over his head. "Not long as you'd think–if we get started." He watched as Logan followed his glance to the bar as Bling's large hand took hold of it. "See this? See if you can grab on..."

_...to be continued..._


	4. Undercover Angel

_DISCLAIMER: See earlier chapters. Characters borrowed for a while._

_A/N: Trying to post these chapters in the midst of FFN's breakdown has been frustrating. I have appreciated the reviews from those of you who have written, many of you being Bling fans, but it would appear that either the FFN problems have run people off (and have actually eaten a couple reviews that came through via e-mail!), or this Bling-thing just isn't working for a lot of readers. I truly would appreciate feedback either way for future reference, especially if the vote if that this is a dud. I know there's a wide variety of tastes out there, but it's a great help to know what flies and what tanks. So any thoughts, suggestions, thumbs up or down are welcomed and prized. _

**METRO MEDICAL: FOUR WEST. Ten Days Later:**

The pain was intense, but he was unwilling to acknowledge it: he knew Bling stood by watching him intently but showed the good grace not to ask him how it felt. He tipped his head back a bit, this new, forty-five degree angle painful and disorienting, making him feel surprisingly dizzy and unbalanced. _Millions and millions of holes_, he noted for the millionth time, now with teeth clenched, looking at the thousands of holes in each acoustical tile overhead, looking at the stretch of tiles from up behind his head, where the ceiling met the wall, and way on across to the far wall, to over the windowless walls, cutting him off from any hope of escape...

_..it would take years to count all the holes...lifetimes..._

There must have been holes in the emergency room ceiling, he rationalized yet again, but without his glasses he had no way to know. Plus, the drugs and shock and emergency surgery pretty well prevented his counting _them_. When he finally awoke in recovery, he'd been there unsuspecting for a while before Bling brought his glasses and he'd discovered them. He'd nearly finished counting all he could see, even with the nurses coming in a few times a day to log-roll him, "corset" and all, onto one side or the other, when Bling came in and announced he would be sitting up today...

"Getting any easier?" Bling's voice, gentle, as it often was, he realized, brought him back to the present. The tone made him feel awkward, underscoring his helplessness–or was it his body's response to the simple feat of sitting at an angle that made his feel so _...disabled? _

"Sure. It's great." Logan muttered through clenched teeth.

"Seriously, Logan–any dizziness, or sudden headaches?"

"I'm fine." His response cut off all discussion–he thought.

"You won't tell me, you're coming down, and we set things back a while." Bling moved cooly to grab the bed controls.

"No–wait." Logan gasped. "You made me wait this long to even move this far..."

"And will make you wait until you're willing to be honest and tell me how it's affecting you–because I know it's not 'fine.' I'm not going to risk your blood pressure shooting through the roof or your back being further damaged because you're too stubborn to admit what's going on..." The descent started.

"Alright; wait." Logan pleaded this time–and Bling stopped, waiting. Cale drew a shuddering breath and admitted, "I feel...as if I'm falling over. Sort of woozy but...not really dizzy, not like just at first."

"That's better. Headache?"

Logan considered, then spoke. "No. Not really...more like...an ache up my spine, into my head."

"Ache? Or any sharp pain?"

"No, an ache–like a few days ago, just started up again."

Bling nodded, and relented. "Okay. Want to try a little higher?" At Logan's nod and murmured assent, Bling punched the controls to move him up and maybe another five degrees higher than he'd been before. "Still the same?"

"Yeah." Cale clipped, but breathed, raising his eyes again to focus intently on the ceiling as Bling had seen him do countless times–as he had seen other patients do. But in just a few moments, he spoke again. "This does...get better, right?"

Bling smiled and nodded, pleased he could give the man some good news. "Sooner than you'd expect, with how you feel now," he promised. "Just hang in with me a while, Logan. This is what I do."

**METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST. Five Weeks Later:**

Max paused in an empty adjacent hallway, listening, before rounding the corner. Because it was the middle of the day, with staff and visitors coming and going along the hospital corridor, she was more likely to pass unnoticed if she took a normal pace, and walked along as if she was there as a visitor, too.

Which, in a way, she was; she had been in and around this hospital many times now, different shifts and different times, different clothing, even different floors, all in an ongoing effort to get the guy's back–or at least, keep an eye on things, to make sure that _all_ the threat from Sonrisa and his pack of scumbags was put down as surely as the kingpin himself and his dim-witted assassin had been. And after a couple weeks of watching Sonrisa's offices and the hospital, she had satisfied herself that the all the juice from that group had dried up.

Not that _he _knew. Not that she _wanted_ him to know.

The idea of doing the bedside vigil, bringing flowers and inane chatter--she couldn't do that, and she suspected it wasn't his thing, either. He was here because of his own whack decision to play savior of mankind, and just as he should have expected, thrown from bad odds to worse, with physical exposure when it all went sideways, he was here. At least he was _here_, and not in the ground like his muscle-bound friend...but she'd seen his chart. He wasn't going to be walking out of the place. All because he didn't have enough excitement in his own life, that he had to start rooting around in other people's?

But she kept coming back, keeping an eye on things...whatever drew her here that first time led her to check out his place again, not only for information on Sonrisa and Anselmo, so she could pay them a visit of her own, but to take a look around and satisfy herself that it was secure from further break-in, at least from anyone without a key or her own 'special skills.' Finding Loren there, she was then lured into helping the distraught mother find her child.

'_..and after that? Think, Max_,' she scolded her self, her inner voice sarcastic as she sensed nothing unusual around the corner. '_You took out the threat, got mom and kid away, and rich boy is in the clear. Why are you here **this** time?'_

She couldn't shake it off, not the voice–and not the compelling, hungry urge to come see him, to study him, to try to figure out what in the world would compel him to do the things he did. No one could ever suspect him of having any training in such things; his actions were so contrary to the training she and her siblings had received, she knew he wasn't some paid mercenary--at least not a military type. And when they'd spoken, he was cocky, so sure of himself, even rich-guy smug, more sure of the righteousness of his cause and decisions than was smart. In any other circumstance she wouldn't give him a minute's thought–would she? After all, wasn't he thinking of himself enough for them both? For plenty of others? Normally, given all that, she would have run the other way.

So...what was this?

Repeated visits risked exposure, recognition. Even among these people, plodding through their work days or focused solely on getting to their visit, where she should be nearly invisible, the more times she came, the more likely...

...and, moving head down toward the rehabilitation unit where her objective now lay, she literally bumped into the wide, powerful chest of a large, dark man, who at the very last moment stepped nimbly right into her path...

And she fell for it, she'd later chide herself. Just as she was lulled into complacency, thinking she was surrounded by sheep, this guy shows up. And just as he wanted her to do, she broke her stride and looked up at him, revealing herself, eye to eye...

"Hey. Sorry..." his soft voice came. His hands lifted away from his body not only in a universal gesture of apology...but broadening his ability to block her path. "Only a minute" he breathed. "Just a question or two..."

Max considered her options. She recognized the signs, and this guy had some training. Plus, he had a name tag; he worked here–which meant she, a stranger, wasn't likely to convince the staff _he_ was the threat. She had a hunch he could spin it the other way, and would be believed. And the kicker: this guy was working with Robin Hood in there.

She wasn't in any immediate danger. This guy worked for Cale, who'd called off his muscle before. And her feline DNA was just aching for some answers...so she'd give it a minute...

"...who's askin'?" She took a casual but wider stance–at which the dark eyes twinkled, catching the significance. He was still wary, though–and it occurred to her this one was more thoughtful than the last bodyguard she'd had to face. She broke the glance and looked at the name tag. "What kind of name is 'BL'?"

"What kind of name is 'Max'?" he answered softly, eyes still on hers. "Because that's who you are, isn't it? Jam Pony messenger?"

"Don't know what you're talking about..." She started to push past, testing him...and his sideways step was subtle, smooth...and completely effective. "Look..."

"Why are you here? It's okay to go in to visit, if you want..."

"Why are _you_ here? The last bodyguard didn't do such a hot job, you know..."

Bling nearly hid his reaction, the painful stab he felt at that. "I work here. I'm a physical therapist, and I'm working on getting him back out there."

"You're not going to get him to walk out of here, though, right? Unless you have a magic potion to make a severed spinal cord grow together."

"No...but there's a lot more than just walking involved..._he's_ done a lot, to get himself strong enough to get out of here."

Max wavered, finally admitting, "I know. I've seen..." She had been by and had peered in, she'd thought unseen, to watch the man's struggles, and his therapist's patient, firm-yet-gentle ministrations. She'd felt less of a need to be here so often, after seeing Cale with him; even then she suspected this "BL" knew how to handle himself, and so had been more apt to come at times she suspected he would be gone for the day. No point in duplicating efforts...

"It's alright to go in." Bling repeated, a bit softer now. "He might like having a visitor."

So he had none? Somehow, that both surprised her and was what she'd expect. _Damn him,_ she fumed, suddenly angry at him just for_ existing_, for being complex and compelling–a far cry from the largely vacuous crowd she'd cultivated. Only Original Cindy had much upstairs. Max loved her like a sister; she'd give her life for Cindy and even _she_ didn't know the secrets Cale knew about her...even she didn't draw her back again and again, to see what made him tick...

"...Max?" Bling tried, seeing the emotion cross her face. He'd seen her there a few times and felt no threat from her yet, but decided before it went much further she needed to know _he_ knew she was there. From Peter's vague mention, in his last days, of some female cat burglar who'd dropped in in the middle of the Sonrisa thing and laid him out–admitted only after a couple beers and some prodding from Bling–to the description of a young leather jacketed woman who moved Cale out of harm's way moments before his room exploded, to Cale's brief answers to Bling's casual questions about improving security in the building, including roof access...he knew there was something unusual about this tiny woman, and knew she would be back, no matter what he did. So he decided ingratiation might be the best strategy for the present...

"No, thanks. And don't tell him I was here; I was just..."

"In the neighborhood." Bling helped.

"Right. Visiting a sick friend."

"Right." Bling nodded. "Well, you're welcome to visit any time, but..." He wavered, not sure how much to admit, not needing her to know the network of hospital employees he'd managed to enlist to keep an eye on things, to let him know if anyone suspicious was around...including the security cop who'd phoned him a few minutes before to report that Max was back. "Someone might try to finish the job on Logan, and...I have some folks trying to watch out for him. If you are stopped again...they're probably just trying to keep him safe."

"Well, you can call everyone off" she said lightly. "I took a look around, myself–the ones who would have been a problem are dead. The other roaches have run to find new rocks to crawl under."

Bling's eyes narrowed, wondering now if it was due to some actions she herself had undertaken. "Then...I don't suppose you've heard anything about the girl and her mother?"

"Reunited about 48 hours after your boss man landed here; probably a continent away by now, just to be safe."

Bling blinked, any facade dropping. "Logan will be so relieved," he said. With a pause, he decided to give it one more try. "Why don't you go tell him?"

"No–and I don't want him to know I was here." Her irritation flared, but, she realized, she still wasn't exactly sure why. " Just...tell him whatever you want" she relented, "but they _are_ safe."

As she turned to stride away, Bling called once more. "Max..." She turned slowly, and waited, irritation on her face. "Thank you. For him, too. And, seriously..." Bling considered the fresh, cheeky stance, the deep, brown eyes that carried far more intelligence and depth than was needed to be a Jam Pony messenger, and tried, "Come in and say hello, one of these times."

**METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST:** Moments Later, Training Room #2, Rehab Unit:

Logan's hairline was wet and a couple rivulets of sweat traced along his temples; his shirt clung to his chest as he lay back on the mat, momentarily alone in his workout, while Bling took a call. He struggled to strengthen his abs; his level of injury affected them somewhat, but as he healed from the trauma and the surgery to repair it, and worked with Bling to improve the control for what he had remaining, his front to back movement wasn't far from normal. Balance was coming along; control of his laterals was what kept it a bit dicey, as he still needed a hand or something to lean on if he turned or moved too much while seated.

_'coming along...'_ He was surprised to find how, on his better days, he fell into Bling's way of thinking, that this was some measure of success, that he should have even more return but if not, half a body was plenty, that he could be sprung from this prison ..this refuge...and be just _swell_. But those times were short lived, infrequent, and usually disappeared when Bling left for the day. There was just too much time to think here, and he hadn't yet gotten back the energy to write, to research–even to read. Bling counseled patience–with himself, with his body–but it was not a virtue Logan had ever possessed.

With Bling out of view, he tried to shift from the straight sit-ups he'd added to his workout this week, to try the twisting sit-up he knew ought to target those recalcitrant laterals...and felt a sharp stab of pain as he overworked a portion of his muscle responsive to his brain, but not yet tough enough to carry the rest of the load Logan demanded of it at the moment...

He flopped back on his back, sucking in his breath, but easing it out again to try the same move, albeit more cautiously, on the other side–and felt a similar, quieter complaint on his other side. He rolled back on his back, staring at the ceiling, yet again admiring the holes in this room, too. His damn spinal cord... who'd'a thought how handy it was to have it intact...

His days were fairly regimented and similar, in the rehab wing; the food was no better, really, but it was available from a unit kitchen, buffet style, over a two hour period, and was one small area of his life over which he had a modicum of control. He didn't eat much–wasn't really hungry–but Bling insisted. The only reason Logan finally started eating more of the hospital food was that Bling would stop and buy him some real food, from the Outside, and not let Logan even try to reimburse him–although access to his accounts wasn't an easy process, without car or computer. So, the only way he could stop his therapist from blowing his paycheck on his client was to choke down some of the offerings here–and occasionally telephone a familiar restaurant or two where the maitre d' knew him and would put lunch for two, complete with delivery, on the Cale account.

He focused to do another ab crunch, one he'd been approved to do, then a slow, long lateral to the left, perspiration breaking out in another wave across his forehead with the strain, and another to the right, with much the same effect. He lay back, gasping, wondering how much more return he _would_ see from his broken body...

"I saw that." Bling came back into the gym, coming around to Cale's line of sight. "You are just bound and determined to stay longer than planned, aren't you? Because I can't think of any other reason you'd push ahead and strain muscles that aren't ready for what you're trying to do."

"You don't push me enough." Logan grimaced. "Besides, what am I in training for now, high jump? Hurdles? Or maybe it's the charity marathon for spinal cord research..."

"You keep it up I'm not likely to tell you some news that I think you'll want to hear." Bling folded down into an easy crouch at his side, offering a forearm which Logan grabbed and used to pull himself up to sitting. "You through?"

Calre rolled his eyes, snorted...paused a moment in his consternation...and finally laughed a little, ruefully shaking his head. "For now," he grudged. "What's it worth?"

"The news that Loren and Sophie are happy and healthy and out of the country." He said levelly–and watched Cale as the news was digested, weighed–almost not trusted.

"Are you sure?"

"Decent source–I think so." Bling smiled.

"Anyone I know? Trustworthy?"

"Look–you can get it all when you get back home. Just trust it's okay, for now." Bling pulled over the "trainer" chair he'd been using, with anti-tip wheels and a heavier base. "C'mon. Let's get you to hydro before those lats really hurt." He stood by as Cale worked to get himself into the chair. "It's coming, you know?" Bling acknowledged. "Good thing too–your new chair will be ready to go tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Cale blinked. It meant one small step closer to freedom–to being kicked out of this sheltered place. He wasn't sure how he felt about it.

"Tomorrow. Believe me–once you switch you'll wonder how you managed with this one."

"I do, now." Cale growled.

"Well, then–you'd best be getting to hydro–wouldn't want you to have to wait any longer. He smiled to himself as the man settled into the chair and pushed off toward the hall. Prickly, maybe, but coming along right on time. So far, things were settling into plan...

_...to be continued..._


	5. Blackness

_**DISCLAIMER: please see first chapters. Still borrowed; not mine.**_

_**MANY, MANY THANKS for all the encouragement , kind words and thoughtful comments, especially through FFN's breakdown mode. It's been wonderful to see both old timers and new names pop up in reviews. I think any writer here would tell you how much the reviews mean, and how helpful they can be in such a variety of ways. It can be daunting to scribble stories then post them for the world (literally!) to see, and sometimes hard to judge for yourself their value. So thank you all for running to the rescue and asking for more–'cos some of us just don't know when to stop! **_

**METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST:** Two days later (Injury plus 51 days):

_...he was slipping back_...

Bling moved through the drink line toward the coffee at the hospital's cafeteria, amid morning staff starting their day and night shift grabbing a fast meal before heading home. He wasn't seeing the line ahead of him, not really; his thoughts were on his patient and the rising concern he had about these new events...

_No, not back...away. Logan was slipping away, slipping off a cliff into depression that Bling's gut told him could rise quickly, fast and deep ..._

Bling had been at this job long enough to have dealt with a number of severely injured patients before, and knew that momentary set-backs would come and go, and weren't all that unusual. But Logan's sudden withdrawal the day before was not one of those. It smacked of serious depression, of a hopelessness that Bling worried could slowly spiral him down, further and deeper, if he wasn't rescued from it soon. And because Bling felt a personal responsibility for its start he felt doubly troubled that he hadn't yet decided how best to help the man...

"BL?'

It had been the second time Sam had spoken. Roused from his thoughts, Bling blinked a little, concern still etched on his face. "Hi, Sam." He focused on the surgeon. "You've got a procedure this morning?"

"Yeah, in about 40 minutes."

"Let me get you some orange juice." Bling turned from the coffee urn with a full cup and nodded toward the cooler.

"No, it's okay..."

"C'mon, grab some juice" Bling insisted. "I wanted a couple minutes today anyway. If you could spare them now...?"

"Yeah...I heard. I was looking for you." Sam watched Bling pay for their drinks and followed him to a table "You've got him on the staff watch list?"

Bling nodded. "Since yesterday afternoon. I saw it happen, Sam; I wasn't going to mess around with it."

"No; that's fine. Do I need to order him onto psych's caseload?"

Bling grimaced, a vague shrug expressing his frustration. "Sam, I can't tell you _not_ to refer him..." But Sam waited. Bling gathered his thoughts for a moment, then said. "I don't know; I wonder if telling him he's on suicide watch and ordered involuntarily into counseling might make it worse for him."

Sam considered the therapist. He had excellent instincts and usually was dead on. And he usually wasn't this worried. Sam considered him. "Did something happen?"

"His chair came in." Bling murmured, then looked up at the doctor, who could see the expression of guilt on the man's face. "He'd been in one of the unit's temp chairs and took one look at this hot custom model, top of the line...I made some crack about it not being confused for a hospital loaner..." The source of the man's guilt, Sam could see. "It was that moment–it all sank in, _really_ sank in. He mumbled something like 'only a real gimp would have a designer chair,' turned and took off." Bling frowned again. "He hasn't spoken since." Bling drew at his coffee. "He's bitched and griped and fretted before, but never just–shut down, like this."

"Has he used the new chair?"

Bling snorted softly, without humor. "No. He just turned and went back to his room. He never came out to eat last night, and not yet this morning." Again a shrug. "Sam, I know it hasn't even been a whole day..."

The doctor interrupted him. "BL, I trust your judgment. Especially since you knew him before. It's not something to wait around and watch before making sure nothing will happen." He paused. "You tell me–this is your area, you see these patients at this stage far more than I do. I'm willing to do whatever you suggest, or order treatment if needed..." He paused and considered. "Look–I'll write the order and have my secretary hold it. And I'll call Paul Ashton in psych, let him know we might have a referral." Sam watched the man's face as he nodded–the suggestion gave him options he appreciated, but no real answers. "BL, it's your call–you want to wait, you take whatever time you want with him. The minute you want him on the service, call Maya and she'll send the order to Paul. They could take him immediately, if necessary."

Bling nodded again. "Thanks, Sam." He drained his coffee. "I'd better go see what's up."

"Let me know, alright?" Sam stood with him.

"As soon as I know anything, you'll know." BL clapped the surgeon gently on the shoulder. "Thanks."

"Whatever you need." Sam promised. "I know this one's special for you..."

_...and for all the voiceless ones out there, waiting for Eyes Only's next hack..._he thought. _Special for all of us, Sam..so what the hell do I do to get him back...?_

**METRO MEDICAL: THREE NORTH, TWO EAST, THREE EAST**; a few hours before, a few hours after:

The previous evening, Max had watched from a distance as the unit staff–two different ones, then–had gone to Logan's room and encouraged him to come eat, to take _some_ food, to no avail: even Max could see something was wrong with him, but no one ever took his temp or checked other signs of illness. Was it just that he'd lost weight and they worried about _any_ skipped meal, or was there more? In varying levels of patronization she could hear them try: "Logan, kitchen's gonna close in ten minutes..." "Logan, don't you want to take _something_?" "Logan, you don't want to lose any more weight...Dr. Carr will have our hides."

But now he sat, unmoving, staring at the wall or eyes closed; he didn't move. He'd not gone to bed, never moved from the chair. Max felt an anxious ripple of worry for what she saw but didn't understand–she'd guessed something was up from the staff's attentions the night before so hung around, watching, staying out of sight, trying to determine what had happened...until shift change, when she heard them talking...

"BL put Logan Cale on watch." The woman packing up for the day told the one arriving. "Nothing during the night, but he refused dinner and sat up all night. His room's fairly clear–nothing too easily used to hurt himself, but we're doing hourly checks," Max heard. _Suicide watch, they meant?_ she wondered. _Logan...?_

"What happened?" The newcomer asked, in some surprise.

"Not sure–I think he just learned he'd been shot" The first staffer's tone was flip, but not completely unkind. It wasn't all that uncommon to see such events in this unit, so they'd become pragmatic about the reactions of patients coming to terms with the reality of "life after." Max appreciated pragmatism; soldiers were trained to deal–but in this, their apparent lack of concern made her more anxious...why weren't they doing something?

She felt a sudden wave of relief when, from the station she'd taken in a ventilation system work duct over the hallway outside Logan's door, where she could hear everything and see a fair amount, she saw Logan's therapist come in, a serious look on his face. Her relief was heightened when, upon hearing that Cale had not moved all night, his expression darkened. This man clearly was there to get Logan's back and had been the one getting through to him before. If anyone could take care of this, she believed, this man could...

**METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST:** Patient Room #4, Rehab Unit:

Bling opened the door after a brief knock, without waiting, and found Cale sitting in the hospital's chair. Still clad in the clothes in which Bling had last seen him, he looked drawn and haggard. Bling frowned. "Logan," he said in low, measured tones, without emotion. "It's 7:20. I have a 7:30, and will be done at 8:20. When I'm back here at 8:25, if you haven't gone in there and done the routine by then," he jerked his chin in the direction of the restroom, " you're going back onto the floor inpatient so _they_ can cath you." He drew a breath. "The clothes and the shower we'll deal with after that. But you don't let this much time go by without taking care of things anymore." he said with finality. "You don't get a choice."

And with that, Bling took a step back, closed the door behind him...and left the man alone to process his order...his threat... Slowly, as if in physical pain, Logan turned his chair toward the small bathroom in his room...

...and Max started breathing again...

She shifted down along the duct to watch the therapist hesitate outside in the hall, passing a hand over his face, the strength and confident air of moments before gone...and Max could see that he was as worried, and maybe as much at a loss, as she'd been in seeing Logan's unresponsiveness...she chewed her lip, hating to feel so powerless–and suddenly felt that surge of anger again that she'd been suckered into hovering in the ceiling, watching this would-be hero feel sorry for himself. And if this therapist didn't know what to do with him, she certainly wouldn't have much to add.

7:20, he'd said...if she raced home and changed, she might be at work nearly on time. Nothing was happening here, she told herself. At least this BL guy would be around and if Logan got his senses back, he'd be there to kick Logan's ass. He looked like a guy who could do it, too...

**METRO MEDICAL**: **ONE NORTH**, eight hours later:

Max had _not_ intended to come back here. Ever.

She certainly hadn't intended to come hover over this Logan Cale guy if he wasn't getting his mind straightened out–after all, wasn't that the Manticore lesson that had kept her alive and safe this long, assess the situation and _deal_? Maybe this was all new to the rich boy..._Welcome to the real world, Logan Cale_, she thought...

But there had been a run here, some reports or records or something, sent over from a private clinic to the hospital. And it wasn't like she volunteered for it; Normal had actually given it to her to deliver. And once at the hospital...

...well, hell, what would it hurt to just go _see_...?

**METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST:** Rehab Unit

...she'd had to wait only ten minutes...

On her arrival to the rehabilitation wing, Logan was nowhere to be seen, but his therapist was in with another patient–she guessed things weren't too bad if he wasn't right there with Logan, and he looked about the same as she'd last seen him.

She would absolutely _not_ lurk in the ceiling again, she decided. But if she were this far, she'd ask... and shifted, ready, when she heard BL leave the room to come her way, nearing the corner...

"Max..." Bling stopped short in surprise after rounding the corner, to find that this time it was _she_ who stepped into _his_ path.

"Hey," she said shortly. "What's up with him?"

Thoughts of patient confidentiality and client safety flickered immediately through Bling's mind, but his concern for the man's mood was insistent. He would be careful, but he could use any input he could get... "What do you mean?" he began cautiously.

"Logan–why do they have him on suicide watch? she demanded.

He sighed. " He hit a bad time with being here–I think it finally sank in, the permanence of his injury, what it means..." He shrugged. "Are you here to visit?"

"No–I had a run here." She was glad it was the truth. "Can you get him over it?" Again, blunt; she would not show any serious concern...

"I don't know." The man was honest. "I haven't found what might get him back to thinking he can live with his injury. So far, family and friends and work are all big zeros..." Bling found himself wondering if a visit from this very attractive woman might brighten the day for Logan–she certainly was interested enough, the way she kept hanging around... "Maybe he needs something to hold on to, to get him through this..." But when he looked back to her, to his surprise, at his words, Max's expression shifted and her eyes lifted to his, almost in question.

"I have something...." she remembered, words slow, haunted...then her eyes flashed with purpose. "I'll be back...give me twenty minutes..."

And Bling was left blinking in surprise at the small form slipping out through the crowded hall to fly down the stairs...

**MAX'S PLACE:**

Max tore through the pockets of the jacket she'd thrown in the back of her closet, even her boots, a growing worry that the little figure might have gone with the SWAT gear she'd tossed, that night....until she remembered her slim tool kit and grabbed it in hope...

And opened it to find the fuzzy little bear she'd promised to deliver...

Grabbing it and shoving it in her pocket, she remembered the short conversation she'd had with Sophy as she pulled up her first chance away to toss the stolen SWAT suit and explain everything to the scared little girl...

"Sophy, remember me? I'm Max...we're going to meet your mom..."

"Was she shot?"

Max had been surprised at first at that, knowing the child had spoken with her mother on the phone– until she remembered that Logan had gone down with Sophy in his arms...she shook her head, wanting to be comforting but also wanting to move. "No, she's fine; she's waiting..."

"But Logan was shot..." the child's eyes were large and worried. "Is he dead?"

Max softened. "No, Sophy–he's in the hospital, and they're taking care of him." She wavered, and unsure why, added, "He wants you to hurry to your mom–he wants you two to be safe."

The girl looked down, then slipped her hand in her pocket to draw out a small, brown fuzzy shape. "Max, will you give him this please?" Sophy looked up to the waiting woman. "He helped me when I was scared...maybe he will make Logan feel better."

Max took the tiny teddy bear, less than two inches tall, warmed from Sophy's pocket. "Don't you want to take him with you...?" she offered.

Sophy shook her head. "Hospitals can be scary." she whispered. "Logan might like to have him now. I won't need him anymore." The smile she showed Max, looking up to her, was as brave a look as Max had ever seen...

**METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST:** Patient Room #4, Rehab Unit:

Bling looked at the tiny bear in his hand, made even tinier in his large palm. He would have preferred Max coming herself, to allow Logan a visitor to show an interest in his recovery... to have a first-hand account of the rescue. But this was better than nothing and might mean something to the man who was losing himself...he closed his hand around the form, and knocked.

Logan's voice finally came, softly, and Bling walked in. "Something came for you." He announced. His reply was a listless, long stare back from the green eyes that so recently burned with intensity. When there was no verbal response, Bling came near and held his closed hand out, waiting. Cale didn't move, however, until Bling encouraged, "...here..."

Lifting his palm, Logan watched as Bling's hand opened to drop in a familiar brown bear...and a choked sob escaped briefly from his throat... "Sophy..." he whispered...and looked up at Bling, emotion back in his eyes...

_He remembered...the child showing Logan the one possession she'd been able to take in their frenzied dash to hide at his place...the small bear that she said was her friend, who made her feel braver, like a bear...and she was alive. Alive...free...and maybe she would have some real toys already, in her new home..._

"After she was extracted, on her way to her mom..." Bling recounted what Max had told him. "She said she wanted you to have it, to keep you company in the hospital ..." Bling watched closely as the eyes rippled briefly, moisture making them glassy. After long moments of silence, the man who had engineered their rescue moved, fingers of his free hand touching the small shape.

"...damn it..." He whispered finally, the picture of pain, head tipped back and eyes tightly shut, refusing to let them fill... "Damn it..." he breathed again, head now falling forward and eyes opening to stare, glassy eyed, and the tiny, fuzzy bear he held in his open palm. And finally, slowly, his hand closed over the small round figure...

_**...to be continued...**_

**_A final note on this chapter: Bling's story here will offer a version of the 3 months missing from Logan's injury to Max's dropping in on Logan's hack. This particular chapter may stretch events more than usual, and, while it may even be a bit jarring, it's a part of what I imagine for Logan during this time, and how the others might react. I hope you'll agree._**


	6. Dawn's Earliest Light

_**DISCLAIMER: Please see earlier chapters giving Cameron, Eglee & Fox their due. Still borrowed for a while.**_

_**THANKS TO YOU ALL who have read; THANKS AND SMOOCHES to those who reviewed...and those you who did BOTH...well, heck, what can I say?? (Seriously, folks–thanks for reading. Double thanks to those reviewing, too.)**_

**METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST: Rehab Unit, Day 57 Post-Injury**

For the fifth day, Logan transferred shakily into the new chair, hating the feeling that at every moment, he was on the verge of tipping over: the chair was so light and fast compared to his other one, the center of gravity different and still a mystery to Logan, he always felt as if he'd fall. He moved faster than he expected and crashed into things, with even more near misses; not yet sensing the chair as an extension of himself, he feared it was too shallow and he'd slide out, not feeling his hips and legs as they slipped down...and hated the dawning realization of just how desperately he'd been injured...

His movement out of his room and down the hall, like his transfers, was cautious and slow, like that of a man decades older than himself--like one far less adventuresome and reckless than the man who had been Eyes Only. And Bling watched, considering...

He'd hoped that Logan would have acclimated more quickly. When he first tried the chair, he immediately disliked it and asked Bling to order a different one. Logan hadn't been the first to be thrown by the switch to an ultra-light, and Bling was confident that once he got used to it, he'd never want to go back to the bulkier, harder-to-maneuver chairs. Bling had convinced Logan to try it for ten days before sending it back, and Logan doggedly stuck with the new chair since. But it had been nearly a week now, and Logan wasn't letting himself relax into its advantages. Weighing his options, and deciding that extraordinary men and their extraordinary circumstances allowed for the use of extraordinary means, Bling followed Logan into the training room.

"You're still driving like an old man," the therapist pronounced, bluntly.

Logan turned to look over his shoulder at him–without moving the chair to ease the awkward angle, Bling noted. "I told you–I'm not comfortable in this one..."

"Why–really?" Bling pressed. "You've never really said." He paused. "Is it just because it doesn't look like it's only temporary?" It was the first time he'd brought up the realization that had so nearly devastated the man, but knew it had to be faced–and overcome.

Logan looked away, feeling exposed--trapped. When Bling's insistent silence became more awkward, he muttered, "It doesn't help..."

"But...?"

Logan sighed, letting his hands drop to the rims of the chair, rocking it a little, as if to remind himself of how unsteady it made him feel. "It's..." He paused, then tried, "I can't feel it, Bling. Or what I _do_ feel, it's like I'm going pitch out of it, any minute, unless I'm careful..."

"You won't, you know" Bling tried to reason with him. "You saw the seat angle, the wheels' angle... it's just because it's lightweight..."

"Look, what's wrong with the other one?" In his growing exasperation, Logan was starting to move away from the depressed withdrawal, actually showing some irritation. He was too wrapped up in his own frustration to notice the sudden gleam in Bling's eye, at his change of mood. "I'm not going to deal with this on top of everything else..."

"Capsizing is a fact of life in the chair." Bling said calmly. "You're gonna have to be ready for it."

"How about if I just don't use a chair that tips every two minutes?"

"You've been in that one five days–how often you tip so far?" At Logan's rolled eyes and silent glare, Bling felt a growing hope that Logan was indeed on his way to fighting his way back. "What's so bad about taking a dive once in a while, anyway? It's not that far a drop..."

Logan's face burned. "Yeah, that's what I want the world to see–me dragging my dead half off the cement, cos I can't keep myself in the damn chair..."

"So you practice staying in it here, at more than two miles an hour. Or, better yet, take a few practice falls and get used to getting back up without it being a melodrama."

"Practice falls?" he repeated in disbelief... Bling nodded. "Just...dump myself out on the floor?" Bling's eyebrows raised, before another nod. Logan shook his head, adamant. "Forget it..."

In one fluid movement Logan could barely follow, Bling stepped in from of him, hooked his foot under the bar on which Logan's feet rested, and in a fast shift, lifted the chair half way back, grabbing the bar in his hand and holding Logan mid-air, teetering fearfully. "Can't do it yourself, man, let me help–it's what I'm here for." Gently, before Logan could gather the wits lost in the shock of what he'd done, Bling tipped the chair and its passenger back and over...and stepped back... "Okay, let's go. Back in the chair."

Logan stared up, incredulous, still too stunned to be angry yet. Halfway under the overturned chair, on his back like an upended turtle, he didn't move. Bling didn't, either.

"Well?" Bling had taken it in, noting that Logan was tangled a little in the chair, enough to make this a bit of a challenge, but his unfeeling limbs safe and easily extricated, once he'd try. He walked away a few paces to sit in a nearby chair. "Better to do this here for the first time than out on the street, isn't it?"

Logan let his head drop back, shame filling the gaps as his surprise waned–he knew what Bling was doing but it didn't make it easier. He lay, unmoving...

"C'mon, man--" Bling prodded. "Can't be that much tougher than getting up off the mat after a session, can it?"

Face burning with embarrassment, even here, in front of only Bling, Logan finally glanced to see the child's step stool kept in the training room to allow patients a way to ease back onto their chairs in stages, and muttered, "Let me use the steps..."

"Don't think you're gonna find any step stools out in the street in front of your house, do you?" Blink made no move to get up. "Or anywhere out there, after you leave the unit?' His voice softened a tiny bit, to insist, "You're strong enough now, man. And you can get used to the chair–hell, you can make it a part of you and move even more quickly on wheels than you did on foot, if you try. Right now the only thing in your way is your pigheaded brain, trying to convince you that you can't be a man without legs. Well, that's bullshit. I'm not going to let you give up, Logan, and if it has to be that I just piss you off so badly that you want to come after me, then let's do it." He glared at the man now moving up onto an elbow, the chair shifting off slightly as he did so. "I don't have all day..."

**FOGLE TOWERS: Day 61 Post-Injury**

Bling pulled the car up to the parking garage, smoothly working the garage entry codes like an old hand. Logan couldn't help but wonder how many trips here the man had made, between overseeing the adaptation of his home, and checking on...things. He rubbed his temples, already exhausted.

"Look, Bling, I trust your judgment–whatever you think needs adapting, adapt it; whatever you want to move or change, do it. You don't need me to do this..."

"Maybe not, but you're coming up anyway." Bling's tone was pleasant, unruffled. Cale had been fighting any trip off hospital grounds, any public appearance in the chair, and he was less than ten days from his scheduled release date. "You don't get this done, you don't get released." When that received no comment, Bling added, "and staying isn't an option–your room's taken. You'd just go back on the floor."

That got a physical reaction, if not a verbal one: Cale hated the hospital, at least the part away from the rehab unit, and judiciously scattered threats to return him there in-patient had been moderately successful along the way. Bling steered over to Logan's new parking spot, near the entry and elevator, and cut the engine. He looked over at the again-sullen man who sat staring at his lap, looking as if he were trying to find a way to sink into the seat cushions...

"C'mon, man...everything's nearly done, but we need to see if it all fits, if we need anything else for you to move back in..." Better now, while the workmen are still on your contract and you have a few days left."

Logan drew a deep breath and lifted his head, his breath expelled in a long sigh...he was well aware by now that his therapist usually got his way, and that any resistance was pointless. He opened his door, not speaking, and started to reach for his chair. Waiting for assistance or, heaven forbid, _asking_ for any, was wasted effort. He eased the chair out from the back seat of Bling's car and began the process of reassembling it, hoping all the while he could avoid any of his neighbors' prying eyes...

**Upstairs**

It was surreal...

Logan came into the elevator with Bling, noting immediately that the button to his floor was all but out of reach if he wasn't snug up against the call button panel, even then a literal stretch...the familiar but now different surroundings reminded him at every moment that he was now facing his existence from the chair...

Inside, it was worse...his rooms were stuffy with disuse and acrid with the products of the workmen tearing up his place so he could manage things–wood scent from drilling, powdery stone smells from marble and enamel and whatever materials made up his bathroom...

His home. Foreign–barely accessible. It hit him harder than he would have thought...

Bling had simplified, removing some of the living room furniture to make it easier to negotiate in his chair. One of the work tables in the kitchen had been lowered, the handles on the sink lengthened and the tap, arching high and over the surface plane...Logan shivered. _Accessibility_...

His eyes rose involuntarily to the high cabinets, expecting that Bling had moved the basic necessities to the lower cupboards. What would Bling have moved, since he'd never responded to the man's questions about what he _wanted_ down there? Wine glasses? Candles? He wouldn't need that stuff again, anyway, would he? His eyes closed for the moment, involuntarily...

"Hey Logan? Back here, man..."

He pushed silently through the penthouse, seeing more familiarity than change in much of the place. Coming into his bedroom, he barely heard as Bling pointed out a few things he'd brought in to "help make things a little easier;" he declined the invitation to try out a transfer from chair to bed, just to test the height difference...and he let himself be drawn in to the bathroom where the most glaring changes met his eyes: grab bars everywhere, a shower bench in his beautiful, black marble, three-head shower suite...

...grab bars on the jacuzzi...

He felt a wave of nausea and at once was light headed. He leaned down, eyes shut, fighting the scene before him. Suddenly he felt a strong hand on his shoulder as a soothing voice bounced around the tiled room. "It's gonna be okay, man...I know this is a lot to take..."

Somewhere in his swirling head he felt some surprise at the sudden show of comfort from this taskmaster–he remembered it from many weeks earlier, but lately...he forced his eyes open to see Bling's face drawn in empathetic lines. At the eye contact, Bling's expression softened a bit.

"Almost hurts to see that hot tub get torn up as much as it did to get shot, doesn't it?"

And because he could do nothing else, Logan started to laugh...hopelessly, achingly, his eyes swimming with moisture for what was lost...his laughter releasing so many of his most frightening demons...

**Passing through**

Logan followed Bling out toward the door, slowing involuntarily as he came along side the room where his computers lay quiet...his message machine was full, blinking a hapless red "99" repeatedly, not so patiently waiting for his return...

Bling stopped. "Want to check on things?" he offered softly.

Logan wavered, but then shook his head. "What good would it do?" he asked, emotionless. "I'm not in any position to get anything accomplished, and if I heard what was there..." he trailed...

"You might just want to get yourself back at it."

Logan sat numbly for the moment, staring at the floor before casting a look back to Bling, who stood, unabashedly watching him. "I can't" he whispered, finally.

"Where've you been for the past two months, Logan?" Bling whispered intently, eyes piercing Cale's. "Haven't you gotten it yet? What do you think we've been doing all this time?" He looked levelly at the man in the wheelchair, his eyes lit with the same passion he'd himself seen before in Peter's eyes–in the videos of Eyes Only... "There is nothing of this that you can't do, one way or another..."

_**...TBC...**_


	7. A Stirring of Ashes

_**DISCLAIMER: See all the others: no change, not mine, no foolin'**_

_**A/N: Thanks once again for reading & reviewing. It's so appreciated! And though not a review from this story, thanks, Chaosbaby, for the note about the 'Briley' name-sign you saw! Who knew Mama & the pharmacist moved to NYC!!**_

**FOGLE TOWERS: streetside**

They pulled away from Fogle Towers, Logan's head tipped tiredly back against the headrest, eyes closed. His face was a portrait of hopelessness; he didn't see it yet--he didn't understand that the messages lined up on his machine waited to get their audience with Eyes Only's mind and spirit, not giving a damn how the crusader accomplished all he did. Bling sighed inwardly, wondering what he could do to bring Logan back to himself and his work. It was important to so many–and so important to the man at his side...

Bling glanced over again, frowning at the strain he saw on Logan's face. He was well aware that it was the product of the emotional workout Cale'd just had, and not the physical: although it was still work for Logan to get in and out of the car, their work-outs in therapy were now appreciably longer, with more sustained physical effort than was involved in these mere transfers. No, this exhaustion was a product of the additional reality check he'd just had, the visit to his home to see some changes already made, to see what else needed to be done...to see yet another stanza of what was lost to him... Bling wished that all his patients could see the glass as half full, but that just didn't happen. And it didn't seem to matter whether or not they were the rare ones like Cale, who enjoyed the luxury of being able to buy all the accommodations available–some patients could only see the loss, at first...

Mind made up, Bling turned north, away from the hospital, accelerating into the flow of traffic. If Logan had truly been worn down by the trip, Bling would have taken him back right away. But given the nature of his exhaustion, Bling wouldn't relent. He had one more stop to make...

**43rd STREET REC**

Bling pulled up in a parking lot next to a large brick building, now showing its age but also all the signs of loving, home-grown maintenance. The parking lot needed repaving, though, and the bumps they took, with turns to avoid more, roused Logan from his indulgent torpor. He lifted his head, looking around. It was the first time he'd spoken since getting back in the car.

"What's this?'

"C'mon and see." Bling opened his door to get out.

"I thought we were going back..." It was a request–no, a plea: he felt exposed, out in public like this; he still couldn't stand the thought of anyone he knew seeing him like this, dependent, wings clipped. It was bad enough, the strangers' pitying glances or unabashed, rude stares...

The one time he tried to talk about it with Bling, the therapist practically ignored him, dismissing his observations as being too self-conscious, overly sensitive, products of his imagination...hadn't he? Well, Bling hadn't had to face what he was facing, tied to the chair; of course he thought it didn't happen. But it _did_...

"Got something to show you." Bling turned back toward Logan, finding exactly what he expected-- a sulky expression not completely covering the fact that underneath, the man was still frightened of entering the world–and his future–as he was now. He softened a little to nudge, "let's go."

"What?" Prickly now, Logan wouldn't make eye contact, but wasn't looking at the surroundings outside or seeing the car's interior. That meant he was again focused on the inner demons not yet purged. But this time Bling held some hope...

"Come see." Bling said yet again. He stepped out of the car and bent back down to say, "I'll be waiting just inside the doors."

"Bling..." Watching the therapist walk away unconcerned, leaving him alone in strange surroundings, Logan sat back, feeling indignant–and pissed. _Some bodyguard **he'd** make, just taking off like that, leaving Logan to drag out the chair** and** himself, again, alone, this time in a torn up lot..._ _What kind of a therapist leaves their client out and vulnerable like that, anyway?_ he wondered. Before he'd been shot, he huffed to himself, no one would have done something like that to him... he wouldn't be in the hands of someone hauling his ass around town, making demands...

Hating the injury and all that came with it, Logan hunkered down in the seat, arms folded tightly. _Well, fine,_ he decided. He could be stubborn too, as Bling happily reminded him too frequently. He'd just wait 'til Bling got fed up and they'd both go back...

...until he realized two minutes later, with a sinking feeling, that Bling was more stubborn than anyone he knew–if anyone could wait inside, hours...days..._weeks_–Bling could do it. Logan snorted...then sighed... and finally turned to struggle with the chair, grimly, to get it out from the back seat, so he could put it together. The sooner he got moving, he could hear Bling saying, the sooner they could go back to the hospital...the sooner he could go back into hiding...

The parking lot surface was pitted, cracked and rough the entire path into the building, making even Logan's light, quick chair a strain to maneuver up to the door. Struggling for a moment with the stiff, heavy door, Logan managed to pull it open, noting a dingy brass plaque that, once upon a time, had proudly announced that one was entering the 43rd Street Recreational Center. Logan pulled his way into the building. Eyes adjusting to the inside dimness, Logan saw Bling look back at him from the inner doorway in which he'd been leaning–

...which led into a wooden-floored, mid-twentieth century vintage basketball court...

...which was, at the moment, bearing up under a noisy, clanging, obscenity-laced and sweat-soaked basketball game of blinding speed and spinning wheels...

"What took you so long?" Bling drawled.

Logan didn't move, frozen. Bling had talked about this, about these guys who played basketball in chairs, a proposition that Logan could not consider and would not hear. No way could basketball–_real_ basketball–be played in a wheelchair, and not by people with injuries like his. But Bling persisted, Logan had ignored or refused or argued–and suddenly, he'd found himself hoodwinked into being here. He glowered, saying nothing, again hunkering down to wait.

"Oh, c'mon, Logan, come watch–you're here, you might as well learn something."

Bling could play him like a violin: he couldn't _not_ bite at the bait: "_Learn_ something?"

Bling grinned as Logan reacted, enjoying the point scored. "Yeah–that you've been wrong, all this time, about wheelchair basketball. It's real basketball and it's not for sissies." As if on cue, behind Bling was a noisy crash as two players went after the ball, careening into each other and spilling one of the two out on to the court as the other deftly caught himself , arm out, when his chair started to pitch over. Logan watched in surprised admiration as the man, with a twist of his shoulder and a shove, righted himself, and continued to stare as the player then pushed over a few feet to grab his opponent's chair and pivot it around to his fallen opponent who was pulling up to sit. The game suspended itself for the very few moments all this took, the others chatting or stretching casually, the spill clearly nothing unusual to them. The whistle sounded and play picked up again. "See?" Bling offered.

He did. As much as he wanted Bling to be wrong, just once, again he wasn't, and Logan couldn't take his eyes off the ten players pounding up and down a regulation basketball court, with regulation goals, setting picks and sinking hook shots and making sweet steals to lob court-long passes to a speedy guard ahead of the pack...

Thirty minutes later, Bling spoke again. "Change your mind?" he asked, quietly.

Logan tore his eyes from the clusters of men breaking for the afternoon, game over. These guys played a game that at times was a tougher, harder one than he was used to seeing in any back-alley pick up game played on foot. He blinked at Bling, his admiration for the players demanding his honesty. "Yeah." He almost smiled a little...

"Hey, BL!" Before either could say more, one, then two more, of the players coasted over to where the pair still waited in the doorway. "New blood?" The first grinned at Logan, then up at Bling.

"Hi, Corey–hey, guys" Bling added the two behind. "Logan, this is Corey, the team's captain; that's Don, and this is Miguel. Guys–Logan."

Hey, Logan," As Corey reached out to offer his hand, affably, Logan realized he was taking the hand of the player who had caught and righted himself mid-tumble–a feat that still amazed him. He smiled, a bit sheepish suddenly, and mumbled a hello. As the others also offered their hands in greeting, Corey asked, "So Logan, you play?"

"What, basketball? No..." he shook his head quickly.

"But you _did_...." Bling corrected.

Corey pounced on that, not even giving Logan a moment to glare up at Bling. "Good–so come out with us, practice, you'll be back at it in no time."

As Bling watched carefully, he saw the light in Logan's eyes shift as he dared to consider it, rejected the possibility... reconsidered... and shrugged, "I'm still not too good at just...moving, yet..."

"Oh, basketball will fix _that_." laughed Miguel, easily. "We''ll go easy on you–at least the first practice."

"If you got BL as your coach, you got it made." Corey encouraged. "He's got more moves than the dudes been in the chair since they was babies."

As the others chuckled, welcoming him in a comfortable, unselfconscious way, Logan found himself wondering if he could ever do something like this...he dared to glance up to Bling and say, "I'm not sure BL is ready to take me on as a basketball project." He looked back to the others on wheels, refreshingly eye to eye with him, out here in the Big World. "He tells me I haven't done enough of the boring, day to day stuff yet."

"Ah, really new blood..." Don piped up. "Good. I won't be the newest, then..."

Logan looked at him, surprised. The guy, who looked to be maybe twenty five or so, was stunning in his ball handling, coordinating his forward motion with ballet-like dribbling, passing and shots. He played as if _he'd_ been at it since he was a baby...

"Look, just come watch a practice, if you like" Corey offered. "Next Tuesday at 7, right here."

"Thanks" Logan finally smiled, uncertain, but pleased with their reception, and sat by as the others spoke briefly with Bling about a tournament and an injured player. He considered how vital and alive and strong these guys seemed. A real mix of ages and shapes and colors and, apparently, backgrounds, not one of them could ever be taken as an invalid...and he watched them with another new hope in his eyes...

As they went out to the car, Bling was quiet, hoping Logan would speak first–which he did. "Bling--" he wavered, words insufficient. "Thanks."

Bling's eyebrows went up–that was even more that he'd hoped for. "You interested?"

"In playing?" At Bling's nod, Logan stopped, looked down for a moment, then back up to Bling. "Yeah, I am, but..." Cale paused, a self-consciousness there, defenses down. "I think I need a little more time, to let it soak in..." He hoped Bling could understand that this was something he did not want to rush and end up hating because he hadn't done things right... "Is that okay?"

Bling saw something new in the man's eyes, and nodded. "Yeah, we can do that."

"Thanks" the soft smile was genuine, open this time.

"Get in the car" Bling smiled at him, his own hopes buoyed considerably. "Time to go."

They'd pulled away from the rec center and had been riding in silence for at least five minutes, Bling noting that Logan was lost in thought, but not brooding or withdrawn as he so often was. Bling felt increasing relief that things might just work out for Cale, after all, and let the man work on his thoughts without poking at him...

"So...do you...go in and work on modifications in everyone's house?"

Bling glanced at his passenger, now speaking after long moments of silence, and wondered what trail of thought had led to his question. He nodded to say, "If they want. Or if they want to do the work themselves, I might go and help plan it out." Bling looked back to see a look of interest–and the wheels turning. For whatever reason it happened, it appeared to Bling that he just might have suddenly gained the attention of Eyes Only, on a topic now of keen interest to him–and he wouldn't let the opportunity pass, not if EO might be coming out of retirement... He continued, " I've worked a lot with the guys who did your place–they really don't need much input from me, except maybe the person's height and weight, any special matters. They've been doing this a long time–used to be they did a lot of public buildings, back when the ADA was actually enforced. But now, no one's checking compliance–it was one of the first things to slide when the economy tanked." Bling mused. "Nowadays, the only compliance they fund is curfew enforcement and sector pass checks, and let the ramps cave in."

"And the rec center parking lots have more craters than the surface of the moon..." Logan sat quietly for a moment, staring at the city streets before him, seeing the people making their way along the sidewalks, the voiceless thousands who were just trying to get by...remembering the gym full of men in chairs, for whatever the reason, hustling and fighting and demanding that they were as normal as anyone... none of them, not any on the street or in the gym, should have to fight the economy, too--and certainly should not have to fight their own government. It was obscene...After several moments Logan turned back to ask, "Could you have ever imagined, fifteen years ago, that you'd be living in a police state?" He sighed. "How'd we get to this, Bling?"

Bling shook his head, not sure how Logan had made the leaps from topic to topic, but feeling hope growing further to hear it. "Hell, isn't that what you've been doing, these past, what, five or six years, looking into how the government has gotten so turned around and corrupted? If in all that time _you_ haven't figured it out, I don't know that anyone can answer that."

"I guess we let it happen; it's not the first time--something as catastrophic as the Pulse, there's an immediate emergency and a panicked response; everyone buys into the idea that it's worth giving up some individual freedoms for 'the good of society'–and we didn't question it when they said it had to be that way to keep us 'safe.'" Logan laughed humorlessly. "But this time it really got away from us. Suddenly we look up and we have to have a government pass to go more than ten blocks from home." He looked back out across the Seattle streets. "We never learn..."

Cale fell silent again, lost in thought; this time Bling's subtle glance to his passenger showed him that Logan was brooding again–but for the first time since he'd been hospitalized, Cale seemed to be focused on everyone else's problems–not his own immobile legs. He let Logan ride in silence, remembering the beneficiaries of Eyes Only's crusades.

It wasn't too long before Logan spoke again. "What about your clients who can't even buy the stuff-- the bars or whatever–let alone pay for the changes. What do they do?"

Bling shrugged, keeping his voice neutral. "They do the best they can, without." He tried not to look over at his passenger. He dared to believe he was hearing Eyes Only waking, rousing after a forced hibernation–and reminded himself to practice patience...

...silence...then...

"Didn't you tell me there was 'Net access in the medical library?"

"...mmm-hmm.."

"You can get me in?"

Bling chuckled. "Yeah. But it's not so much 'getting you in'--it's more like pointing you there. Any of the unit residents are welcome to use it, any time." Bling again stole a look over to Logan, wondering if he truly was seeing something more there...when Logan didn't speak right away, Bling nudged with a little nonthreatening 'I told you so:' "See what you missed all this time, not paying attention to the orientation stuff they tell you? No tellin' what else you might have had at your fingertips..."

It was silent for only another few seconds. "Bling--" Logan looked over to the man behind the wheel, and it dawned on him that the unassuming, quiet man had rescued him, and had given him another chance at life...the man who, he now understood, he had learned to trust above anyone else in his life, as it now was... "Can we go back?"

"Back --where...?" Bling held his breath, hoping it didn't show...

"To my place. I..." Logan looked away for a moment, appearing to be rattled a little, even having made his decision, whether or not he had truly admitted to himself yet. "Maybe...I should get those messages..."

_...To be continued..._


	8. Baby Steps of the Phoenix

_**DISCLAIMER: Same as all the others.**_

_**Thanks to all of you who've hung in thus far...**_

**METRO MEDICAL: Roof**

It had been ten days, and Max had been drawn back again and again to watch Logan Cale as he struggled more with some inner beasts than with any limitations left after being shot. She couldn't figure out why she was compelled to return, not able to stay away for more than a very few days, and it even creeped her out some to think about that, too: half the time she found herself angry at him, for various reasons, usually that he'd drawn her there...

...well. Maybe not _half_ the time...

Over the last week and a half, she'd come around to see him engaged in the most desperate struggle of his life: to fight the blackness of despair and self-contempt, all just to face the physical realities of getting on with life as it now was. And as much as she tried to tell herself all the drama was just because he was a spoiled rich kid who'd never had a moment's hassle before this, she knew it wasn't true.

If it had been true, he wouldn't be here, _having_ to deal...

She frowned, sitting down on her haunches behind a large air vent on the hospital roof, anonymous in the building's height relative to the other, smaller buildings in the area, to plot her next move. Another source of irritation, this; it was her third trip over here this day and Logan Cale was nowhere to be found. Still. Of course, neither was his nanny, and a fast call to the rehab unit from around the corner let her know that BL wasn't on the floor, and in fact, upon checking, the unit secretary discovered that he was off-grounds but would be back, oh, probably around two thirty or three. So at the time of her second stop Max figured it was field trip time for the pair, and she'd swing by later.

But now that it was six o'clock, and no sign of them--what the hell was she supposed to do?

Damn him, anyway, she growled to herself, irritated with herself yet again, that she would be here, stewing about some whack stranger who thought he was Batman. She could imagine how her teachers and commanding officers at Manticore would have derided his behavior, how they would all say any real soldier with half a brain would have seen it coming, and would have bailed on the mission long before the ambush went down...

_...oh, crap... she thought ...is that what's gotten to me? Just to do a bit of independent case study on what makes someone do something so ill-advisedly stupid?_

She stared up at the pleasantly blue sky going twilight, a rare spring evening of soft breezes and sunset, and allowed herself the comfort of the privacy she'd found there. She really had been obsessing about this Cale guy, she admitted to herself, but it wasn't because he'd been hurt after she refused to be a part of his suicide team, she was sure about _that_. She _was_.

_So then...what...?_ she dared to ask herself, letting her thoughts slow down and defenses melt a little, to honestly examine the past couple months. _Face it, Max, you have never staked out some guy like this before, never gave much of a rat's ass for anyone other than your sibs til you got here and met Cindy and Herbal and even Normal...and even for them you wouldn't be following them around..._

So, what is it with this guy? You've met guys before, even some sort of cute...

_But you have never, ever known someone away from Manticore who knew it all, or at least knew enough that there were no real secrets, knew enough that he looked for the bar code, knew exactly why tryptophan was in your drawer...knew why you could bail out a window a few stories above the next landing without going splat...knew how they manufactured you..._

She shivered, suddenly, with the next thought: _and what's more.._.he was strong in ways that she was not, pure in his altruism, as compared to her own, focused day-to-day survival...

...he had killer green eyes that saw through it all to see her as she was, _who_ she was...and hadn't lost the look that he was seeing another person. No one who knew what she was, not even her siblings, had looked at her in such a way that she could see them feel her humanity...

She shivered again. _Where the hell was he? Damn do-gooder whack..._

**FOGLE TOWERS:**

Since Logan had asked to come back here, few words had been passed between them, Bling uncharacteristically apprehensive about the moment that he sensed was watershed: in these next minutes, Logan Cale would determine if he was going to move forward, or fall back down the hole he'd just struggled to escape. Bling was wise enough to know it would be Logan's choice, and that they had reached the point where Bling had offered him all he could, in the way of hope for the future. But he was also pragmatic enough to know that any wrong step of his own might be snapped up by Cale as an excuse to give up. So he was quiet, he was there to lend silent support and be there if anything was needed...and he was absolutely committed to maintaining his poker face...

As he drove back to Sector 9, this time with Cale's sharp eyes taking in scenery and surroundings, he was reminded of a watershed of his own, so many years ago. He had arrived back in the States after his summer overseas with the Medical Corps a week sooner than scheduled, the conditions and terrorist aggression so intense that the Corps, the last medical team left in the hill region under siege, was pulled out and smuggled across three armed crossings in their only chance at escape...

Just barely twenty, the young man who had the advantage of having seen many foreign cultures and exotic lands was in shock from the horrors of genocide, of ruthless destruction and the proof of just how barbarous and bloodthirsty humans could be... He wasn't sure if he could go on, if he wanted to be a part of such a world. Unaware of exactly how he had managed it, he found himself in the Phoenix airport, still dusty and scraped from his escape, calling for a cab and reciting, from long memory, an address...

He hadn't spoken, couldn't speak, but simply appeared in her doorway, staring at her with huge, haunted eyes and sunken cheeks...the athletic form and confident bearing had in ten short weeks been bowed by the emotional weight he bore and shaken by the parade of broken and bleeding bodies that he'd seen every day and that revisited his dreams, every night...

And Granny didn't speak either, but simply pulled him into her arms as she had when he was tiny, sinking right there and then with him to the floor in the doorway, silently rocking him and beating back the ghosts, allowing him finally to let go, moaning in low, shuddering grief for all those they could not save...

The woman with the wisdom of the ages, who'd taught him the joy of song and fireflies, who'd read to him and spoke of so many things, now taught him the power of silent, unconditional support. He stayed with her for two weeks, only one or two words shared each day, but her loving touch and warm arms there to bring him back and assure him there still was good in the world...his granny, who could do anything, proved once again to be his guide, his strength...she brought the shattered, ragged spirit safely though the fire and helped him find a foothold. Maybe not peace, right then...but certainly set him on his journey to find it...

"Bling?"

Bling blinked rapidly a couple times, finding that his eyes had misted slightly as his memories came back so sharply. He looked over to see Logan looking at him, some concern in his face now, and also noted that he'd found his way back to the parking garage, on auto-pilot. Bling offered Logan a neutral smile of assurance. "All set?"

"Look..." Logan hesitated now. "It's okay, if we need to get back...if _you_ need to go. I've taken a lot of your time..." The smile apparently hadn't been assuring enough. "Or I could get a cab..."

"No, man, it's fine. Let's go..." Bling opened the door. "I have some more stuff to do up there, anyway. This will save me a trip later on." Better, he saw: Cale opened his own door and started reaching for his chair...

xx00x00x00x00x00x00x00xx

Bling finished up the list of items he wanted to order for the therapy room he'd set up for Logan, since his client had decided he'd prefer working his program at home rather than coming in to the hospital for PT as an out-patient. Bling was actually pleased by the prospect for a couple reasons: first, as a private therapist and not as hospital employee, he'd be able to show Cale some alternative options that the hospital still didn't promote for pain and the probable spasms that he'd be facing, such as acupressure and acupuncture and meditation techniques. And second...he'd have a pass into the inner sanctum of EO, and could be available to help, if Logan asked. Before, he'd needed to do it for Peter's memory. Now...he also wanted to be there for the man who wanted so badly to make the world right again...

He wandered past the computer room without really stopping, but slowing enough to cast an eye on his patient, who looked a little drawn but had a fire back in his eyes that had been out since he'd been shot. Noting the growing dark outside, Bling realized that Logan hadn't eaten in a while, and could use some nourishment. He knew the cupboards were bare, literally; he'd tossed out most of the refrigerator contents himself weeks before. He turned to go back into the computer room and waited through a message as Logan scribbled some notes, then stopped the machine, looking up to his therapist.

"I was going to offer to feed you, but there's nothing to offer–literally. You don't have some canned tuna tucked away somewhere, a frozen dinner or two?"

"Hardly" Logan snorted softly.

Bling chuckled at the tone. "Well, look–I saw the market a couple blocks down. You'll need a few things soon anyway. You keep at this and I could go pick up a few things, make us something..."

Logan's eyes clouded and his brow furrowed as his expression closed off, as if he were hiding something. "Look, I don't know, maybe instead I should just wait on all this and come back here later..."

Regretting whatever he'd done to stop Logan's progress, Bling hesitated, wondering if the man was nervous about being alone, knowing it would need to be addressed if so, but unsure about the best timing for it... "It would only be a few minutes; I can get us something and make a fast dinner..." he tried again.

But if anything, Cale looked a little more prickly with the thought, and reached to unlock the brakes of his chair, coming around the table where he'd been working to face Bling. "Maybe I should come with you," he asserted.

Which had Bling fully puzzled now. Frown still in place, Bling looked down to the man in the chair before him, whose green eyes, not making much contact, darted aside, almost as if he were feeling guilty about something...

...and then it hit him: surprise, even delight, crossed Bling's face in the sudden realization, certainly relief a big part of it, and he actually laughed, out loud, pleased that it had actually come to this...

"I don't believe it," his laugh was low, rolling. "Eyes Only trusts me enough to let me in on all this, to let me see it all and have full access..." his gesture swept the room, eyes twinkling, "but _doesn't_ trust me in the produce department?"

Caught, Logan glanced up, then away again. "The two are entirely different..." he grumped, only to watch Bling laugh again in relief that he'd been right, and rallied to his own defense. "I've _seen_ you with this stuff" Logan tipped his chin toward the still-dark computer monitors, then looked Bling straight in the eye. "But how can I know what you'll do in my kitchen?"

xx00x00x00x00x00x00x00xx

They compromised on Chinese take-out, Bling gratified to see that his charge attacked even the mediocre lo mein with an appetite he'd not evidenced at any time since Bling had been working with him. As they ate, Logan told Bling about the calls he'd reviewed so far, including a developing thread from one of his most reliable informants, building a story that he was itching to follow...

As Logan had spoken, Bling noted a couple longing looks to his computer array, and caught a references to what he might try to track, on the system. After the third suggestion of information he'd need to find there, Bling finally suggested, "Logan–look-- let me screen the messages. I can do what you're doing there, just taking info down. You go ahead and get the system back on line." Seeing his hesitancy, Bling went on, "I added some new security measures, both for the penthouse itself and the system–external only, so far. No reason you can't unplug when you're done, if you want, but it's only gonna be another week before you're back here full time–you could leave it on the same security you used to use when you were going to be gone a day or two. I'll stop by every day, and if you want...you could come, too."

Wary, the green eyes looked into Bling's, still cautious of the complete commitment here. But in only another moment he looked back to the system, as if seeing a long-lost friend. Eyes not leaving the computer, he finally said, "If I do that...we'll be a while...we might not get out of here 'til eleven, maybe midnight..."

"Let me make a call or two..." Bling said smoothly, without question, getting to his feet.

Logan looked up at him, guiltily. "Bling. Look, if you have something..."

"Nope. Just making a call or two." he said again. "Tools and stuff are where you left them..." And as he stepped out in the hall to retrieve his cell phone and punch in the first number, to make his excuses for the evening, he felt a weary relief that Logan Cale was going to weather the storm...

**CRASH**

"Hey, MAX!!" Sketchy's voice finally got through to her. "Your shot."

As she frowned and came around to the side of the table, lining up her shot, she ignored his look and leaned over to smack the balls angrily. She wouldn't allow herself to worry, so the only thing left to feel was anger, unable to tear her thoughts away from the fact that Cale had gone missing... two balls popped into their pockets. Another shot, more balls...without giving thought to her game, and therefore playing far better than her friends had ever seen, she finished the round and threw her cue on the table, stabbing a hand out toward Sketchy. "Pay up," she barked, flatly.

"Damn, Boo," Original Cindy murmured. "Whatever it is been up your ass tonight, you ought to market it. Girl could get rich hustling with a talent like that."

"What?" Max turned to Cindy in irritation, but seeing her expression, snorted a little at herself. Now she was taking this out on her friends... She rolled her eyes and offered, to Cindy in particular, a muttered, "sorry."

"What got you so gone, tonight, anyway?" Cindy pressed. "You in some kind of trouble?" she asked, voice low.

"Oh–no; just..." _Just what? How could she tell even her best friend how she'd turned control freak, that when she couldn't be sure that rich boy was tucked in all snuggly she went pyscho? There was definitely something wrong in the wiring, and there was no one in on her secrets to whom she could spill.._

_Except **him**... _

_**Damn it!!**_

"...look; I gotta blaze," she apologized to Cindy. "It's nothing; it's just...." Her eyes lit up as she remembered Kendra's dismal mantra. "It's just, you know...._hormonal..._"

"Oh, girl, don't I know how you feel," Original Cindy immediately sympathized. "You okay to go on alone?"

"It's probably safest for everybody" Max finally relented, offering a rueful smile. "I'm fine–see you tomorrow." She gave Cindy a quick hug and half waved to the others. Outside, she jumped on her Ninja and revved up the engine louder than necessary, in another surge of consternation. Just one more try tonight...if she could call it 'tonight.' It was already tomorrow...

**METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST:** Patient Room #4, Rehab Unit:

Logan pushed into his room, tiredly, feeling his shoulders ache at the end of a day longer than he'd had in months–literally. The unit was quiet; one fellow inmate sat in the lounge, watching an old movie on TV, but otherwise all was darkened and still. 'Ten past twelve, and all was well...'

So much had happened that day, he considered briefly the man he'd been when he left this room that morning...he felt almost as if he was seeing with different eyes, as if a fog had lifted... and felt another wave of guilt that so much time had gone by while he wallowed here in self-pity and fear, despite Bling's demands that he had no reason to be guilty, and all reason to pick up and get back on track...

Despite the twinges and the events of the day, he knew it would be a while before he could sleep, and he crossed over to his bed. Locking his brakes, he swung himself up gracefully onto the quilted spread, pulling up to prop his pillow on the headboard and to lean against it, pulling out a small leather folio from the bag on his chair. Pages open in front of him, he paused, staring off across the room, lost in thought...he knew it was not going to be easy, and knew himself well enough to know he would have many days where he could not feel even this optimistic.

But today had been a good day, all told...a full one. Maybe Bling was right...there's always a way to make a way, if you looked hard enough to find it...

And as he slowly drew a deep breath to hold it and then release it, feeling the twinges in his shoulders soften, he felt his lips quirk up in a rusty, hopeful smile...and thought he heard, somewhere overhead, a small breath catch in emotion to have seen it...

_...to be continued..._


	9. Expecting to Fly

_**DISCLAIMER: No, I haven't suddenly bought them. All of it's still in the clutches of Eglee, Cameron & Fox.**_

_**THANKS to all passing through, and for the kind encouragement. And a special thanks to Lee, whose review got me to thinking more fully about tying up a loose end!**_

**MAX'S APARTMENT**

Max stared at the exotic bronze figure in her hands, inspiring yet another round of vague irritation at Logan Cale: his small statue of Bast had ended up in her hands yet again, the first time having been for only a few minutes in his penthouse; this second, following his break-in of _her_ home to leave the priceless object with her.

She'd _tried_ fencing it–after all, that was why he'd brought it to her, wasn't it? But to her surprise, when Max tried not once but twice to dump the thing while Cale was still recovering, she found that, apparently, she'd developed a conscience– a scruffy, myopic, stubborn, caped-crusader conscience, sitting on her shoulder, who stopped her each time she tried to fence the thing and pocket the money she damn well needed...

She gave up. He might even need the money himself, now that he'd been shot, and not exactly bouncing right back. So she called a couple "brokers" _she_ knew. While she was able to learn the name of the art dealer from whom Logan originally bought the statute, she was also warned that the dealer was now dead and the partner who took over the business, untrustworthy...

And now what? Just leave it in his home, as he had in hers? _Oh, no_, she felt herself bristle, she was washing her hands of him, and smelled a "test" in all this: if he learned that she hadn't fenced it, he'd never leave her in peace, ready to enlist her as another charity worker, just like himself. She'd heard him with BL these past few days, and had seen him pushing his workouts with a vengeance. He wanted to get back to things, and was looking to keep up his mission. If he still held any thought of signing her up, he could just kiss that good-bye. And she wouldn't do anything to let him for one minute think he could _buy_ her services...

Making up her mind and planning her attack, she started burrowing through her closet for something that could pass, finding a dress that could work, more conservative than her other things, kept for those odd times when a change of Max might be needed. She dressed quickly and pulled her hair back into a smooth, conservative tail, moving quickly to get downtown before noon. As much problem as the police were these days, they were more apt to get the thing back to Cale than any other way she could think of. With luck, the man's money and family name might get the cops to play it straight for him. If not...well, she'd given it a shot...

**SEATTLE POLICE–CENTRAL DIVISION**

Matt Sung was returning from a mid- morning call, crossing over to his desk, mind on the case he'd just been assigned, when he looked up to see the new guy, Klaus, talking with a remarkably attractive woman: young, brunette, exotic features on tawny olive skin, she was clearly becoming frustrated with the newly minted investigator. Matt's ears perked up a bit as she asked– apparently, not for the first time–to see a detective. Also, apparently not for the first time, Klaus assured her he was one.

"But look, lady–we don't handle lost and found. It's downstairs, room 104..."

"This isn't just some bowling trophy" she demanded, jiggling the box a little. "I work for an art dealer–this is a very valuable object. It _needs_ to go back to its rightful owner, but we can't reach him. _You_ could do something..."

"Like what?" Klaus asked, exasperated. "We can't do a missing persons for the guy unless you specifically report..."

"He's rich. He has _connections_..." She whispered ominously. "You've heard of Cale Industries? He's _that _rich. Maybe this would make his family very happy..."

"Klaus...miss...?" Matt came up in what he hoped was a casual saunter, the Cale name setting off all sorts of alarms for him, "What was it we can do for you?" He looked to Max, ignoring the glare he was getting from the unseasoned detective.

"I have a statute here that belongs to Logan Cale–but we can't find him at home, either by phone or visit to his penthouse." Max turned on the concerned charm for Matt, neither of them suspecting the other's connection to the man. "It needs to go to him, we just don't know how to reach him. It showed up on the Black Market–and my boss managed to intervene before it was shipped out of town. Mr. Cale and his family are valued clients and my boss wanted to be sure..."

"Your boss is...?" Matt probed, gently wary.

"Josef Rimmel."

Matt's eyes narrowed only slightly but Max caught it; this detective knew the name of the mangey partner of Cale's broker. Maybe he knew Rimmel was a problem? _Not terrific..._

"...The Cales have been clients for years, and Mr. Rimmel told me that we _have_ to return this statue to him." She let her voice and face shift, in a look of concern. "I could be fired if I mess this up, after we were able to get the statue from the fence."

The cop wasn't completely convinced, but relented a little, she thought. "Well, we don't normally handle things like this..." It would be easy enough for Matt to call Logan: it would be an excuse to call him, and if Rimmel wanted him to have his statue back... "I think we can find Mr. Cale."

The woman's face brightened. "Oh, thank you, Detective..?"

"Sung."

"Detective Sung." She purred, offering her hand, almost coyly. "You saved my job."

Matt finally relaxed, the woman's sparkling eyes too bright to resist. "May I tell him who...?"

"Oh, just tell him Mr. Rimmel sent it over" she breezed, turning to go. "It was all his idea..."

**METRO MEDICAL COMPLEX: TWO CENTRAL TOWER: Library**

Bling walked from the rehab unit across the atrium and over toward the main part of the hospital, taking the stairs to the second floor library. A**s **reported, inside, he saw cyperjournalist/AWOL patient Logan Cale hunched into a computer monitor, his long fingers delicately dancing over the keyboard, intent on his fishing expedition. Bling crossed over to Logan's shoulder and spoke, low. "What, you eat your Wheaties this morning or something?"

Hungry for the information scrolling before him on the screen, Logan began turning his head toward Bling before he could tear his eyes away. "...what?" His eyes finally lifted to Bling's, all innocence, honestly not remembering much beyond his immediate research.

Bling lifted an eyebrow. "I hear you've been busy." When Cale still looked puzzled, shrugging in question, Bling finally prodded, "You didn't like me as a driving instructor?"

With that, the light came on, and Logan's face drew into an expression of defensive self-righteousness, suddenly remembering: after a less-than-stellar maiden voyage in his new, hand-controlled vehicle the day before, Logan had sneaked out again that morning, at the crack of dawn, to tackle the unfamiliar hand controls, touring the parking lot and connecting drives around the hospital until he was comfortably confident behind the wheel of his new Aztek. It would just take time for his hands' response to become second nature as the response of his feet had been...

"Not much of a performance yesterday" he muttered, the renewed memory of his solo accomplishment making it a better day, as he tried to dampen the bit of smile that threatened to light his face. He sat up to stretch a little and started closing screens.

"You ready?" Bling asked, watching as Logan backed out of the sites he'd been trolling.

"Yep." Logan made it back to the log in screen, unlocked his brakes and pivoted back and around to move with Bling toward the library exit. "Are you still able to get away this afternoon to go over to my place? If not...I guess I have my own transportation..."

"Uh-huh." Bling drawled. "You tool around the parking lot for five minutes this morning and now you're ready for driving across town? This I plan to see."

"It was more than five minutes" Logan grumped, hitting the elevator button as they came into place in the hall.

"Good. Then I'm able to get away --and you're driving."

"Deal." Logan agreed, swallowing the small wave of nerves he felt to consider the drive. At least Bling would be with him, in case he got into trouble. As he _had_ been, since Logan awoke as a shooting victim... How far Bling had brought him, he mused...

He pushed forward into the opening elevator and neatly pivoted around to face the door. "C'mon, let's go" he snapped, finally allowing a smile to snake along his lips. "We got things to do..."

**METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST: Rehab Unit**

In ninety minutes, after an upper body workout that left Logan's shirt damp and his arms still warm, Bling stood at the side of the exercise table where Logan was stretched out on his back, breath still drawn deeply, watching the tall man work his joints smoothly, patiently. After three months of this, it was not so foreign to watch Bling there, moving legs he could not feel...he'd thought, early on, that he'd never get _used_ to it...but it wasn't so foreign any more...

And with a deep breath, rather proud of himself for what was to come, he smirked toward the trainer to ask, "Stanford, huh?"

Bling shot him a look, saying nothing. His client was feeling playful, it would seem, and while Bling wasn't too interested in talking about himself, at least Logan was pursuing _something_. It was actually a very, very good sign, Logan nosing around like that, he decided–and would let Cale play a bit. "Showing off, that you can hack into confidential files even from the library terminal here?"

"Pre-med, biomechanics..." Logan shrugged, ignoring the jab. "You should have been the one operating on me in there."

Bling chuckled at that. "Oh, then that would leave Sam to be kicking your ass into shape here?" The trainer never broke his pace, working Logan's hip and knee joints. "Sam's a fine neurosurgeon, but that's where he needs to be. If he were here, instead of me, you'd be lying around doing nothing all day, gettin' all flabby and fat, while you ran him ragged doing your bidding."

"Oh, really?" Logan actually laughed at that. "Now, what have I ever done that would make you think that I'd take advantage of Sam's good nature–of anyone's--?"

"So you _don't_ listen to yourself gripe during therapy...I'd suspected as much..."

Logan was quiet for some moments, lost in thought...long enough that Bling started to wonder if the lighter mood he'd just seen had passed...but Cale then started speaking again. "So, you went into medic training with more training than the trainers..." his voice was quiet...respectful.

"Well, not for the practical stuff, not really...I got a good dose of 'practical application readiness' there."

"Not interested in going back, for medical school?" Bling glanced up to see the green eyes looking into his, steady and concerned. He suddenly understood-- Logan suspected that he, as were so many post-Pulse, was forced to give up the dream of an expensive education abruptly, out of reach without grants or scholarships or loans. Bling was reminded yet again of the clandestine work that had landed this man on his caseload... and smiled slowly, shaking his head.

"Not yet..." he lifted an eyebrow, admitting that he might always be interested–but assuring Logan that it was his choice, not something taken from him. "Too many things I had to do first, still not done."

"Like what?"

Bling slowed his movement now, seeing the intensity back in Logan's eyes. He hadn't taken Bling's comments as cast off misdirection, but as life planning–and there was only one reason he could think of that it would be so intensely important to Logan. Bling met his gaze. "This. This, and the other medical work you'd seen me do, before. It's on the front line of things. Medical school, then internship, residency-- takes too much time before you can do much, for real. This is hands on, now. It's just as necessary as any medical practice I might have, and..." He shrugged to admit, "it's more personal than just cutting into someone...definitely longer lived." He added with a chuckle.

Logan nodded, the intensity lessened slightly, but his gaze still direct and steady. "Come work for me." he said, without preamble. "Whatever they're paying you, I'll double it. If you say no I'd need to pay two people, a therapist _and_ someone who can help with my work. I'll just give you _both_ salaries..." He watched the man's reaction. "What do you say?"

Bling blinked a little, taken aback; he hadn't expected that generous–or that ambitious–an offer. "Logan...I have other patients...and the hospital has only two therapists as it is..."

"Keep a caseload here, part time; your schedule with me can be flexible."

"That's not fair to you..." Bling shook his head.

"You won't take advantage of me." Logan's eyes were powerful, Bling thought at that moment . How fitting, given the man's public persona: he knew he could not deny him his assistance, whatever he needed...it was _precisely_ the sort of work he'd chosen over medical school. "Bling–would you _want_ to work for me?"

Bling's sober expression relaxed a little, appreciation there. Wavering only another moment, he said quietly, "It can't be forty hours a week–but maybe thirty. I can work my hours here early mornings, way before you usually are up and running." Bling said in a low, even voice. "But I only want what's reasonable–not two full time salaries for part time hours."

The green eyes finally shifted from the focused, determined stare to a look of relieved satisfaction. "We'll figure something out." A small smile played his lips. "Thank you."

"You need to get back at it." Bling pronounced, resuming his work on Logan's feet and ankles, looking away, suddenly feeling some emotion that he wasn't ready for Logan to see. "And I want to be there to see that you do."

**METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST:** Patient Room #4, Rehab Unit:

Logan coasted out of the bathroom to his dresser, stopping to lift the towel from his lap again and give his hair one more rubdown before tossing the towel over the towel bar. The workout had worn him down a bit, but also made his breath deeper and slower, actually relaxing him and easing the knots he'd had in his shoulders earlier. Raking his fingers through his hair absently, he pivoted to pull out a lightweight jersey and pulled it on over his head, just as his room's phone rang. He reached for it in surprise, answering–it may have been the first time in his stay it had ever rung...

"Logan? Hey, it's Matt Sung..."

"Matt...hi" Logan was pleasantly surprised to hear the familiar voice.

"Hi." The voice was apologetic, right off. "Look, Logan, I stopped by to see you a while back, but...they said you weren't seeing anybody..."

Logan felt an awkward embarrassment at that, at the way he'd hidden from everyone, refusing to see visitors...and knew that he would have another wave of that embarrassment when he first saw Matt again, after he went home... "I..know, Matt; I'm sorry. I just wasn't ready to get on with things, and needed a little time..."

"Hey, it's okay–I'm just glad you took my call." The detective urged. "So–are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, no problem on that" he wanted to get past all the medical stuff to the reason for Matt's call, even though Matt was just trying to be a nice guy. "So what's been happening out in the real world?"

"Same as ever...broadcast TV's been pretty boring, though..."

Logan knew the man would not be able to resist some mention of EO's absence. He drew a breath to offer, "I've noticed...they have TV in here, too." _C'mon, Matt, what've you got?_ Logan wondered, breathing slowly, in studied patience. _What made you call?_

"Yeah, of course..." Matt sounded awkward with this, too, but got back to business. "Well, look... we got something of yours today. Did you have a small statue stolen, looks, what, Egyptian, bronze, a human figure with a cat's face, one of those goddess figures?"

Logan's eyebrows went high in surprise. "...Bast..." He rallied, quickly. "Not stolen, actually, but...yeah, it's been gone for a while. How did you end up with it?"

"Your dealer pulled it out of a Black Market load–or, I guess, saved it _from _getting lost out there. They tried to contact you and had no luck, so ended up asking us to consider it stolen property and take it through the property division, to get it to you. I knew I could contact you fairly quickly so I just said okay."

But it made no sense...how would Rimmel have gotten it, from Max? He couldn't imagine the connection, even if Rimmel was looking for sneak thieves–which he may well have been. Max had that statue, but if she'd fenced it, Rimmel never would have gotten it–not without paying huge sums himself ...and he'd demand even more to buy it back, not just give it happily to Matt. It had to mean--didn't it?-- that Max just turned it in, herself...?

"Great" he managed. "You didn't happen to see who brought it in, did you?"

"Yeah, she said she worked for Rimmell..."

"...she?" He perked up. "What did she look like?"

"Beautiful. Brunette, twenties, full lips...petite... _Beau_tiful..." He repeated. "You know her?"

"Yeah..." Logan said slowly, a smile of wonder on his lips. "I think I might..."

_...TBC..._


	10. Cleared for TakeOff

_DISCLAIMER: Characters and universe not mine; no profits made. _

_YOUR READING AND RESPONSES are always appreciated. For now, however, what I could really use is a note excusing me from being on time with my Christmas gifts this year! Instead of braving the crowds, shopping for loved ones, I've been fighting the Power, and trying to get Eyes Only back in business. Try to guess which is more fun--_

**METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST: Patient Room #4, Rehab Unit:**

Bling peered into Logan's room, finding it empty, his one bag packed and waiting. The room wasn't noticeably different with his things removed–Cale had never brought any of the little "homey" touches others often did for their extended stays. At least this wasn't the typical scene he had with clients leaving; this time he was going with his client, and would be continuing therapy as well as a whole lot more.

Still...this definitely represented one chapter ending in Cale's life, with a brand new book opening before him. It was often an emotional exit for both therapist and client, although Bling usually didn't let his charges see how deeply moved he could be by the strength and effort he saw in each of his patients, Cale certainly not the least among them.

But he did wish he'd broached _this_ sooner...

As he stepped back into the hall, he saw Logan coming toward him from the unit office, his hospital file on his lap, and stepped aside from the doorway. "Hey." He watched Logan move into his room, and came behind, noting that Cale looked a bit drawn, a sign he had learned could spell his weariness, or tension, or pain. Logan smiled up to him, unwilling to acknowledge whatever it was that Bling saw –but the smile didn't reach his eyes...

"Hey" Logan crossed the room to reach over to a slim folio on the desk and drop it in his lap, on top of the file.

"You off to see Sam?"

"Yeah, but they said he's running late–some emergency surgery this morning set all his appointments back." He looked up toward Bling, working to stay positive about the day. "You've got your last client now?"

"Last one other than you?" Bling smiled wryly. At Logan's silent smirk, he chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, in a few minutes." He watched the man, weighing his mood so close to leaving the place where he had struggled to get his life back–and where he had struggled with life in the protective environment of therapists and medical care professionals. "Other than seeing Sam–you packed and ready to go?"

Logan shrugged, noncommittal. "Yeah, I guess." He looked around the room...not seeing it...and not looking at Bling.

"How d'you feel about leaving?" Bling wondered if this was the best time to bring up more awkward matters–but they were running out of time. He waited for Cale's answer.

At the question, Logan looked up to the therapist's dark eyes, then looked away again to shrug, veneer fairly strong for the moment. "Good. I was wondering if I'd ever escape."

Bling smiled softly, and nodded, coming around to sit on the edge of the bed, more at Cale's eye level. "You know, we've pretty much done the whole package here, at least gotten a start on nearly everything, even got you some extracurricular work, what with the basketball" Bling began. "Just one thing, though..." This would have been easier before, when he was still telling Cale what to do and how to move. But now Logan was even taking the lead, Bling helping not only set up his place to accommodate life in the chair, but assisting in EO's pursuit of those officials masterminding a series of government sanctioned murders, nearly ready for broadcast even before Cale's release. Bling drew a steadying breath, knowing this was a necessary step, to continue, "By now, most of my clients– especially the males--either ask for-- or just _get_-- The Talk" Bling began carefully. "You expect me to believe you haven't given it some thought?"

"Do I look like I'm heading to the Prom any time soon, Dad?" Logan's response was sarcastic, closing himself off from the intensely personal topic. "Besides," he muttered, "I never got 'The Talk' from my father–or my uncle." He imitated Bling's vocal take on the words, exaggerating them in his sarcasm. "Why ruin my track record?"

"You're joking..."

"No." Logan's eyebrows lifted as his defenses shifted a little, thoughts of his family changing his focus, _wanting_ to focus on something else as long as he could, so much so that he found himself admitting, to this man who had done so much for him, "The Cales don't _do_ the talk..." He wavered, then went on, "they hire others to do it for them." He snorted in a sad, rueful sound, remembering his uncle's vulgar efforts. "I...suspect my father would have just let things pass without comment. On the other hand, Jonas..." Logan shook his head. "A male Cale's sixteenth birthday was the entry to manhood, according to my Uncle Jonas. He felt a rite of passage was needed, so, he...ordered in a certain ...birthday present."

Bling's eyes narrowed as he looked, long. "Not...?"

Logan nodded, remembering his acute humiliation, sending the dazzling call girl back home in a cab with a decent tip three minutes after she arrived...and two minutes after his date had left in tears of her own embarrassment. It was one of the defining moments of his life, giving form to the lessons he'd learned from his distant but honorable father, his gracious and sensitive mother: being boorish was one thing, using one's wealth to be grandly boorish was humiliating. And not being able to understand what made it humiliating was ... Jonas. "Four boys...to this day I don't know if any of us...went along with things. I know for sure three of us didn't. My oldest cousin..." Logan shrugged. "He might have given it a go."

"Damn." Bling let the man talk, to exorcize his demons as he needed, even if he was doing so indirectly. He had a big hurdle immediately ahead and could use a break... "That's some Talk."

Logan nodded, eyebrows quirking in his irony. He looked over at Bling, not ready to hear what the man had to say on the topic, but certainly wanting to know. Of course he'd done some on line research, but the words meant little at this point. He trusted Bling to be straight with him–just not now, not yet... but he kept the door open, a little. "You get The Talk?"

"Me? Oh, yeah..." Bling chuckled, "With my father, The Talk became the Treatise–you get The Talk from an archeology professor, you not only get the Birds and the Bees, but the Artifacts, the Indigenous Cultures, the Social Structures and Ancient Runes and Tribal Customs..." He smiled in response as Logan relaxed into an appreciative chuckle, and was quiet for a moment, watching his charge. He finally offered, "Logan, it will be different now...but not out of the picture. There are lots of possibilities, and in this more than about anything, everyone is different..." He saw gratitude in Cale's eyes but a slight withdrawal too, as if the topic was still too painful...and as if he still was not able to believe life could include such things for him anymore. "Whenever you want to talk about it you know I'm around. But, just...don't write things off yet, alright? Too much is still out there for you to think that your sex life is over..."

The veil dropped at the three letter magic word; Bling expected it, so had saved it for the end... He stood, and said, "I'd better go. I'll be done in an hour–just meet back here?"

"Yeah, and I need to get over to Sam." Logan followed Bling out into the hall. " I should be back before you are. Look--" Cale stopped, and shrugged, "there's no reason we have to drive over at the same time; you'll need your car, so I'll just load up & go over, when I'm done..."

"You're sure?"

"Sure–no time like the present to see if I'm actually ready to be sprung."

"Okay, man–I'll see you there." They went in different directions, Bling stealing a glance at the man's resolute shoves toward the elevator. He hoped that sometime soon Logan could start feeling inside as tough as he was now trying to appear to the world...

**METRO MEDICAL: Overhead**

So this was his last day.

A fitting end to her hovering, Max needled herself gently, as, with practiced ease, she came across the hospital roof from the next building, crossed to the maintenance door, and made her way in though the access ways built in for ease of maintaining the hospital's standard and emergency systems – and allowing _her_ ease in coming into the crawlspaces overlooking Cale's room and the adjoining hall. No one was around at the moment, but she'd heard the ward clerk saying he was in his doctor's office and his release status was just updated on the system. It wouldn't be long and he'd be out of the hospital and into his own, fancy home, away from these handy hiding spaces. Sounded about right, she decided–he'd be home and off her mind, he'd have his life back, so she could have hers.

Perfect.

In only a handful of minutes, her objective wheeled into view, crossed to the large duffle on the bed, and hefted it into his lap. He turned to move toward the door, and Max thought her stay was ended. But as he slowed, she watched, still not able to see his face clearly yet. At a bit greater risk of being discovered, but curiosity compelling her, she shifted forward a little, flattening out, to see better. As she did, his features were clear to her view...

She saw him turn back to look around the room, one more time. At first, she assumed he was only looking once again to be sure he hadn't missed anything. But she could tell, from her vantage point, that at the moment he wasn't seeing anything in the room, but his own, unspoken thoughts–which were, what? New plots to unravel? New corrupt officials to take down? Whatever it was, she thought with some grudging admiration, he'd made it, made his way back even after half of him had been killed. No matter his motives, she conceded, you had to give him that. Feeling some closure herself, to see him moving ahead and strong, she shifted back, turning to withdraw...

And almost made it. But she heard a sound that held her...

She silently twisted back to look into the room, where the solitary figure had moved across to the dresser, his eye having caught the small form he'd almost overlooked, thinking it had been packed...and Max knew the sound that had drawn her was a momentary sound of pain from him, an involuntary cry escaping the newly built facade...Logan sat bent over the small bear in his hand, his breath, shallow and forced into an even pattern, as he blinked rapidly...

The man fought to even his breath, squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth as though through sheer will he would make the pain go away...at first Max assumed it was a physical pain, the kind she'd read could occur with an injury such as his. But as she watched the handsome face work to focus, she could see--it wasn't physical. It was heartbreak, and hopelessness and fear and all the loneliness he'd ever faced, all confronting him at that moment, when he was absolutely, desperately alone. Max stared silently, drawn to his grief in a powerful compassion, at a loss to know how to make his pain go away. If Eyes Only was the hope of the downtrodden...who was there to rescue _him_?

And long after the man had willed away the demons to a small corner of his soul...long after he had drawn a shaky sigh, put on a brave face and had turned to leave the room and say good-bye to the staff...Max sat hidden in the darkened crawl way above the room, touched by a spirit and soul far more complex and compelling than she had ever known....

**FOGLE TOWERS:**

"This is new, too." Bling walked into the hall to show Logan a monitor panel, more at his eye level from the chair than Bling's on foot. "These perimeter readings can tell you if there's a breach–you have identical monitors in the other rooms, plus a read out on your computer, if you want to call it up. It will raise either an auditory or visual alarm if there's someone on your floor or outside, anywhere –the door, windows...roof..."

Logan glanced up, a slightly guarded look. "Just an alarm, no booby traps or anything?"

"No, no traps, unless you want to set some..." Bling raised an eyebrow.

"No...no need for that-- as far as I know." Logan considered. "The roof, before... the skylight had never been, well, locked, exactly; who'd think that there needed to be a locked skylight on a thirty six floor building?" Logan tried to laugh, but his forced casualness wasn't working. "I don't know that Peter ever had it sealed, as he'd talked about doing..."

"No, it's as it was originally built...if you want it sealed..."

"No--" Logan answered too quickly. "I mean...there's no need. You have the intruder array..."

"...And that system alerts security, downstairs, for any signal raised from anywhere other than the front door."

Logan blinked, concerned; Bling, looking for that very reaction, saw the confirmation of his suspicions. He waited, hoping he hid his amusement. " You mean...for example...if someone tried to come in, say... through the skylight...?" Logan tried for a casual tone.

Bling laughed outright. "Yeah, 'for example.'" he repeated. Caught, Logan looked to Bling, and when the look demanded a response, Bling confessed, "Look, man, Peter told me about the girl–I mean, come on, it was pretty memorable, some five foot, 100 pound ingenue lays him out." Bling chuckled softly, at the memory of Peter's consternation–and wishing Peter were here to be ribbed about it again. "That bruised his pride more than his jaw." He paused, and offered, "The system can be reset, but...I programmed the roof sensors to track only, not report, any human shape in the range of five feet and one hundred pounds, give or take...you know...just in case..."

"I have no reason to think that there will be a repeat performance." Logan said guardedly– confirming for Bling in that instant how much he hoped for one, and also serving to warn Bling not to get the man's hopes up, not in an emotional framework still so new and tender...

"Well." It was only fair that he have some idea of her visits, but Bling knew the signs, and recognized two people with powerful, compelling attractions that neither of them saw in themselves nor suspected in the other. Dangerous...potentially devastating...and if the stars were aligned in the universe as they should be...unbreakable... "I don't know about the roof, but...I think Max might show up, sometime."

Logan frowned and drew back a little in denial, a defensive gesture. "No–why would you think that?"

"Well...I got the bear from her, Logan. She brought it to the hospital" he offered, in a slight oversimplification of the truth. "Sophy wanted her to give it to you; I think she felt awkward about seeing you herself, but...she was concerned about how you were doing."

"Great." Logan said tersely, his cheeks burning. "Another mourner?"

"No, it wasn't like that" Bling said evenly. "She didn't even ask about your injury or prognosis or any of that. She simply asked how _you_ were doing."

He wouldn't ask...he didn't want to know if Max had been told he was in the chair, for good, because then he'd have to know her reaction, and he didn't want to think about that. Putting it aside, he heard himself tell Bling he was ready with the text for the hack about Solinski and the smugglers, and turned to head back to the computer. At the keyboard, hearing Bling go back to assembling the sturdy workout table he'd ordered for the training room, Logan pulled up the video clips he wanted to use for the hack, and willed himself to focus on them. But instead of the clips, he kept seeing the dark eyes and perfect face he'd worked so hard to forget. And instead of the text, his thoughts returned to the fact that she had come to the hospital, while he was there. She'd come...she'd asked...she'd come...

_...to be continued..._


	11. Phoenix, Wheels Up

**_DISCLAIMER: DA and all its characters still belong to Eglee, Cameron & Fox, as far as I know. (Shoot, if they were mine, they'd still be on TV and S2 et seq. would have been VERY VERY different!!)_** **_Dialogue from the Pilot property of the show and its writers, with thanks to Kyre for her online transcript._**

**_MANY MANY THANKS for hanging in and dropping a line here & there. This has been fun. I'm glad there are so many other Bling fans out there!_**

**FOGLE TOWERS:**

Bling watched the security panel as a small shape was traced along the roof, following the expected path to the skylight. The system worked perfectly, he noted in satisfaction. The pre-programmed breach line signaled not an intruder alert, but merely a watch, given the target's size, weight and manner of accessing the glass panel: the system had been "taught" that this was an acceptable combination for roof entry. And the intruder the system had been taught to expect was, to Bling's way of thinking, right on time. Bling felt his mouth quirk upward to realize just how quickly she had come.

As Logan's voice rolled in rich, confident tones from across the penthouse, Bling moved soundlessly to a position in the adjoining hall, hearing first a tiny swish then a soft "thwap" as the end of a rope, one a bit too long for this drop, coiled on the floor. Not even bare moments passed before there was a whisper of movement, a gentle padding of a landing...and the air currents in the hall shifted, ever so faintly. Bling stepped further back to wait, cautious as always, but knowing he wouldn't be needed. Just like the security system, Bling knew this "intruder" would be welcomed–whether Cale would admit it or not.

"...Those responsible are on notice. Their power and privilege will not protect them. They will be held accountable. This has been a Streaming Freedom Video Bulletin via the Eyes Only informant net. Peace. Out."

**Max shifted at the room's entrance, all studied casualness: **

"See you're back at it... rockin' the boat." _After all that's happened...what brings you back, Logan? What demons are pursuing you?_

_So...she actually did come back... Don't do it, Logan; don't react..._ "Somebody's got to."

_...and he acts just as if he expected me to show up here... "_I would have come sooner, but...I didn't..." _Is he ready to get back to all this?_ "How you doin'?"

"Not in any pain...the good and bad news of a blown-out spinal cord." _Did she know? When Bling saw her in the hospital, when she told him about Lauren and Sophy--did he tell her? If she knew, and came anyway--what did she think? And if she hadn't known...what did she think?_

"I'm sorry."

_No, Max, not from you; I don't want you to feel 'sorry' for me, I don't want you to see me any differently than you did before-- however that may have been..._ "My mother used to say the universe is right on schedule. Everything happens the way it's supposed to."

"You believe that?" _So soon? It wasn't that long ago they thought you'd chuck it all. A false alarm, then, huh? Sure... _

"I've never been much for trying to figure out why bad things happen. I just know they do. So, the job's trying to figure out how to deal with the consequences..." _And I will. But I don't want you watching. It's not pretty. So-- let's move on..._ "...which you did. Took that son of a bitch out."

_So the big guy told him...wonder if he said anything about my being at the hospital. If he did..._ "Not me personally."

"Well, on account of you Sonrisa didn't get to kill the judge or buy the jury." _Don't you see how much you can help?_ "He's gone, once and for all. It was war, Max, and you won." _Try to tell me that it's not an extraordinary feeling, to do such good..._

"He had it coming. A friend of mine died on account of him." _And look what he did to you..._

"Sorry." _So he didn't make it. Another victim, now one close to Max. Would it make a difference for her, enough to make her willing to help?_ "This is for you. Open it." _Will she just go ahead and fence it, this time? I know she could use the money. ... Would she like to keep it, or was the only value to her its cash potential?_ "Turned up on the black market...somehow." _Will she know that I'm onto her act at the police station...? _

_....? ...did he...?_ "Thanks."

_Okay; she can keep a poker face...now let's see if you can. Just...do it--_ "I need a favor..."

_So **that's** what it's all about? I can't believe this guy..._"You can keep this. I really don't have anyplace to put it."

"I need you to do a little leg work for me..." _No,** don't** look at her! ...Don't **ask**_...

_After what just happened, he's going to piss off the government crowd too? That's it...I'm gone. He doesn't know when to stop, does he?_

_...Just move forward as if she'll say yes...as if she **has** to..._"Joel Solinski..."

_Max, move; tell this guy to shove it and blaze, now..._

"This guy's got a wife with three kids, an ex-wife with two kids, a mistress, and two girlfriends..."

_And I've got my own problems. If he were smart, Logan would realize he does too and be damn glad he's alive to face them.... _

"The wives get houses, the mistress a condo, and everybody gets a car...all on a harbor master's salary."

_I know, I **know**_... "I caught the tail end of your hack. The guy's on the take. He's paid to look the other way while the smugglers deep-six their cargo." _So what??_

"He's made a fortune...as an accessory to murder." _Max...we can do this! Don't you see...?_

"Okay, so the guy's a beast. Doesn't mean I gotta get involved." _And back on the radar for all sorts of people who would love to find me..._

"You _are_ involved. By being alive, you're involved." _And by still being alive-- I **have** to be..._

..._Oh, please! Max, leave now. NOW. ...I can't believe this guy..._ "I got my own problems."

_Look-- Max... _"Look...maybe we got screwed out of living in a time when we could hang out for the afternoon in a cafe someplace wearing $2,000 wristwatches, planning our next vacation, but the world got a whole lot meaner all of a sudden. It wasn't supposed to...but it did. So now it's back to the law of the jungle and there are predators and victims..."

_...and at that, Bling drew a deep breath, sighed...and moved, unheard by the pair arguing in the other room, to write Logan a quick note and slip out into the hall and down the elevator. Walking out into the night he stopped on the sidewalk to look up at the stars. One small benefit of the Pulse, he reflected, fewer city lights allowed more of the night sky to be visible, on a rare clear night, such as this one...._

_With a private smile, Bling drew another deep breath of the sweet night air, hiked his satchel up over his shoulder, and set off for his car. Logan Cale was back, pissed off and wound up, lecturing to a woman who dropped in on him, literally, after three months away, just as if not a day had passed. _

_Things would be different tomorrow, Bling reflected. From this day on...**he** was Sancho Panza, and Don Quixote would be back, tilting at windmills. What the hell would Peter made of all of this? Peter–hope you'll be proud of me, man. ..._

_And Granny? Go talk with Peter, will you? Man's gonna have issues... _

**_The End_**


End file.
